


Would You Be So Kind?

by Casiosiris294



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), I love my boys so much even though they're both hopeless, I'm told you'll get cavities, Keith doesn't know how relationships work, Lance is worried about fucking everything up, Like so much, M/M, Mutual Pining, Puppy Love at it's finest, Rating is for swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a little bit, and some suggestive comments later on, background Shallura because I have no self-control, basically they're both pining disasters, keith and lance are oblivious, nothing can ever be easy with these two, silly and light-hearted, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-22 23:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15593517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casiosiris294/pseuds/Casiosiris294
Summary: Keith told himself that he went to Castle of Lions Café for the obvious reason: it had the best coffee in town.It definitely hadnothingto do with the Incredibly Attractive Barista with rich brown skin and impossibly blue eyes currently standing opposite the counter from him.Or so he told himself.





	1. Mondays (and Human Interaction) Are A Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! WOW it's finally happening! I've been working on this fic for a long time now, and I'm so excited to finally start posting it to share with all of you! This was supposed to be a short, fluffy thing to work on while I wrangle with some larger fics that I have planned, but it ended up getting away from me (like most things do haha) and well, here we are! 
> 
> This fic is complete and has ten chapters, with each chapter following a day that Keith goes to the coffee shop, so my plan is to post a chapter per day for the next two weeks so you all can read it "as it happens." I promise it's gonna be a fun ride! This is my first work in the Voltron fandom and my first Coffee Shop AU, so I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> **EDIT** Now with [beautiful art!](https://eveysdraws.tumblr.com/post/177774151584/anything-else-i-can-get-you-this-commission-is) My friend commissioned this for me as a surprise birthday present and I'm sobbing THEY'RE SO CUTE I CAN'T ;w; Thanks so much to both her and the incredible artist! <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron or its characters, and I'm in no way affiliated with Dreamworks. I'm just a huge fangirl, haha. 
> 
> Title is from ["would you be so kind" by Dodie Clark!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4u0e3s_dodo)

Keith told himself that he went to Castle of Lions Café for the obvious reason: it had the best coffee in town. 

Never mind that doing so added a few blocks onto his walk to work in the mornings. Never mind that if he went to the chain shop on the corner right by his apartment, he could leave half an hour later and sleep half an hour longer. 

Keith was a morning person anyway. He told himself that he liked the exercise and brisk morning air that helped brace him for the day, and that even if he didn’t, Castle of Lions Café’s consistently perfect brews were worth it. 

Then there was the fact that it was quieter than any chain shop he’d ever been in. They did a steady business without there ever being more than a handful of people in front of him in line. There was always at least one table open for rare mornings when Keith felt like getting breakfast, and the ambiance of the café was relaxed and welcoming despite the boisterous potential of certain members of staff. 

So, all in all Keith had plenty of perfectly valid reasons for coming to this particular, albeit out-of-the-way, coffee shop. 

None of which had _anything_ to do with the Incredibly Attractive Barista with rich brown skin and impossibly blue eyes currently standing opposite the counter from him.

Or so he told himself. 

Most days when Keith came into the café, the Attractive Barista was the one manning the drive-thru window and Keith was spared from attempting conversation that would just turn awkward because it was _him_ and he wasn’t exactly known for his social skills. Keith could watch the endearing melodrama that pervaded his movements and listen to his constant, happy chattering from a safe distance. 

Today, however, Keith noticed too late just who was standing at the register taking orders. By the time he’d realized, that piercing blue gaze caught his and Keith had been promptly pinned to the floor, unable to bring himself to get out of line as one, two, three people before him ordered and moved to the pick-up section of the counter, leaving Keith with no choice but to step up next. 

Absently Keith realized this was the first time he’d ever seen the Attractive Barista so close; with only the span of the counter between them, Keith could actually read the letters scratched across his stick-on name tag. 

_Lance._

He wasn’t sure why learning the barista’s name suddenly made his collar feel too tight and his face feel too warm, but there he was, fighting down a sudden wave of elation and, even worse, the ridiculous desire to speak his name aloud and feel the shape of it on his tongue. 

Instead Keith stared for far too long to be inconspicuous, lost in the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Hellooo? Earth to Mullet? Anybody home in there?” 

The amusement in Lance’s voice snapped Keith out of his internal meltdown, only to earn a laugh as he scrambled to arrange his features into anything other than gawking. Keith would’ve blushed had the joyful sound not immediately soothed the edge off of his nerves. Lance’s laughter was earnest and bright; it warmed the already cozy atmosphere of the shop, and despite being directed _at_ him, it warmed Keith’s heart as well. 

“Oh good, thought we lost you there. Not that you’d be the first to get lost in these eyes,” Lance crooned, curling a hand beneath his chin and batting his lashes dramatically, and Keith very nearly lost the careful control he’d just wrangled over his facial features. 

At least this time he managed to keep his spluttering internal. _Damn it_ this was not how he’d wanted their first conversation to go! 

_‘Cool it, Keith,’_ he scolded himself with the authority of the parents he’d never had. _‘Don’t be weird. It’s just the guy you’ve been eyeing for weeks being fucking charming, no big deal.’_

It _was_ , though, but what was one more lie added onto the growing list of ‘shit he told himself to avoid feeling like a moron’? 

It was then that Keith realized he’d never responded and had spent the last ten seconds openly gaping at Lance. Again. Fucking hell. He mentally kicked himself until his voice worked. 

“It’s not a mullet.” 

That was probably a weird thing to say after so long of a pause, but he’d latched onto the only thing in Lance’s statement that wasn’t embarrassingly on the nose. His voice was even fairly steady, kudos to him. 

His arms crossed defensively without him even realizing. “It grows this way naturally.” 

“Mmhmm,” Lance’s hum dripped with disbelief. “If you’re gonna have a mullet in the twenty-first century you gotta own it, man.” With a flourish he produced a bright blue sharpie from the pocket of his apron. “What’ll it be?” 

Keith managed to give his usual order in a mumble miraculously free of stuttering: a large cold brew with vanilla and cream. Lance wrote it on the cup in a scrawl that matched his name tag and ink that was only a few shades off from his eyes. 

“And a name for the order? Or should I just write Mullet?” 

“It’s _not_ —” But Keith paused mid refute, watching as Lance shifted subtly closer. 

Keith’s first instinct was to lean away even as confusion creased his brow, but through sheer force of will he stopped himself. Determined not to flounder again, he held Lance’s gaze and—

Wait. Was that...?

Keith blinked owlishly at what had to be a trick of the fluorescent lights. Surely he couldn’t really be seeing...he _had_ to be imagining... 

That...that was a twinkle. He couldn’t be imagining that, could he? There was an honest to god _twinkle_ in Lance’s blue, blue eyes. 

It wasn’t until he noticed it that Keith also noticed how Lance had bent slightly at the waist to hover over the countertop between them, as if hanging onto the edge of anticipation. His brows were raised and the sharpie was poised in wait just above the cup’s surface. 

And sure, Keith had been gratified to learn Lance’s name only moments ago, but that was due to the Definitely Not A Crush he’d been in denial of developing over the past month of coming to Castle of Lions Café. 

So why would Lance look so anxious to learn _his_ name? 

Keith didn’t dare ponder the implication, instead stuffing the thought and the butterflies that accompanied it into a little box deep inside to be mortified about later. He was having enough trouble keeping his composure as it was; that could be Future Keith’s problem. 

A few moments of silence passed and Lance gave an encouraging twirl of his sharpie-wielding hand. Through the muddle of incoherent fragments and unflattering noises that had composed a majority of Keith’s thoughts since their conversation began, a very _particular_ idea surfaced. 

Although this was the first time they’d spoken, over the past weeks Keith had seen Lance joke and mess around with coworkers and customers alike. It was fascinating to watch how quickly Lance made complete strangers feel at ease, how he could read a person so completely in just a few seconds so he could deliver them their coffee along with a wink or a smile that cut straight through their troubles. 

Keith, on the other hand, had all the tact of a caveman, and even that was being generous. He’d avoided getting involved despite how much he wanted to know the person behind the easy smiles, flailing limbs, and ceaseless flirting. Lance was an ocean that Keith wanted nothing more than to submerge himself within, but he’d stood at the edge of the water without getting his toes wet. 

Was there a chance that Keith could be one of the people that Lance connected with so seamlessly? Could Keith earn another laugh, another smile if he were to take that last step into the surf?

“Are you gonna—?”

“David Bowie.”

The name slipped out before he’d given it express permission and _welp_ , there was no going back now. Keith fought to keep his own expression casually passive as he drank in every fluctuation in Lance’s. 

At first there was just a sharp quirk of his brows. Surprise made the colors of his eyes deepen, but then that blue was swept up in a glimmer of amusement and his lips formed a devious smirk and—

Oh _fuck_ , nope, he’d made a terrible mistake. Keith’s heart couldn’t take it, he could never have planned for how deadly receiving that smirk would be. Abort mission, _abort_ —

The ear-to-ear grin that stretched Lance’s face was more than Keith could’ve ever hoped for. “Not a mullet, huh? You do realize you’re laying claim to the most illustrious mullet known to man?” 

Each word rolled off Lance’s tongue as he glanced at him over the coffee cup, not even looking as he scribbled the name beneath the demarkations of Keith’s order. 

“Although, you are probably the only other person _ever_ who pulls it off well enough to give Bowie a run for his money, so I’ll take it.” 

The words filtered through Keith’s brain slowly, like trying to swim through a pool of molasses. Once they did register his whirling thoughts snagged on the fact that _that was a compliment holy fuck Lance just complimented him_. The room suddenly felt too warm and Keith was sure he was about to dissolve into a puddle under that devilish look.

“Just following your advice.” Keith shrugged in a desperate attempt at casualness. “How’s that for ‘owning it?’” 

_Oh god_. Had he just flirted _back?_ If he hadn’t been in public he would’ve felt his own forehead to make sure he wasn’t dying of illness as well as embarrassment. Panic prickled up the back of his throat, but before it could choke him Lance spoke up again.

Incredibly, his tone was far from disinterested: it was delighted. “Well that’s better! Normally I’d call it an accomplishment to look that good with a mullet of all things, but you make it seem effortless.” His final statement was paired with a wink. 

Keith was so focused on keeping his blush at bay that he barely heard Lance announce his total with more casual ease than was fair. Muscle memory carried him through the motions of paying for his drink. There was the slightest brush of fingers as money transferred hands, and it was enough to send sparks dancing across Keith’s knuckles that lingered as he reluctantly stepped aside. 

Even as the moment between them slipped away with every step he took towards the pick-up side of the counter, Keith couldn’t stop himself from glancing back, and found Lance watching him with soft eyes. He continued to glance over even while ringing up the next person in line, and although Keith somehow kept himself from staring, he could feel Lance’s gaze on him as clearly as if it were a physical weight on his skin. 

By the time Keith left Castle of Lions Café, the blue letters marked on his cup burned like a brand against his palm and the denial he’d been clinging to barely held on by a gossamer thread. His journey to work passed in a blur and before he knew it he was stowing his jacket, wallet, and keys in his locker. The rumbling of engines, power tools, and machinery filtered into the staff room, and Keith tried to ground himself in the familiar drone of the auto garage. 

The memories of Lance’s smirk and disarming laugh refused to fade, and after Keith slammed his locker door, he thunked his head against the cool metal surface with a long-suffering sigh.

He’d cautiously toed along the water’s edge for over a month, admiring the unknown depths of Lance’s eyes. The way his laughter echoed the roll of ocean waves. The way his uninhibited smiles went straight to Keith’s heart. 

So much for being afraid to get his feet wet.

Now? Now Keith was _in_. 

Forget dipping his toes in to test the waters, he’d charged into the surf and dove head first into the deepest part of the ocean of Lance’s eyes. 

Now that _he’d_ been the one to cause that laugh that drew him like a moth to a flame, and that smile that made his knees wobble, Keith never wanted to stop—never wanted to surface when he could keep swimming deeper and deeper, like seeing something sparkling on the ocean floor and endlessly reaching out to grasp it.

Today’s interaction told him two very crucial things.

One: he was fucking screwed. The image of Lance’s bright smile lit up the backs of his eyelids every time he blinked, and his palm still felt warm despite having finished his drink and trashed the cup on his way in. If asked he would deny it up and down, but inside Keith knew that a single dose of Lance was all it took for him to be addicted. 

And two: if it gave him the chance to talk to Lance again, he would gladly blow any money that didn’t go towards rent and his bike on overpriced coffee. 

With a pitying laugh he pushed away from his locker and headed for the door to the main garage, one hand fishing in his pockets for a hair tie as the other gathered his dark locks away from his face.

He was already planning tomorrow’s trip to Castle of Lions Café, regular schedules and embarrassment be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	2. Pidge is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance has questionable friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thanks so much to everyone who checked out the first chapter of this fic! I appreciate each and every one of you who's taking the time to read this thing. It's ridiculously fluffy and self-indulgent, but I love it haha. xD I hope you're enjoying it so far!
> 
> Just to reiterate, the first chapter occurred on Monday (in the fic, most importantly, but also irl, because I'm extra), so today's chapter occurs on Tuesday, and so the chapters will continue! I hope you're all ready for some shenanigans.

Tuesdays were outside of Keith’s usual visits, but when he left his apartment he’d been compelled towards Castle of Lions Café as if a string had been tied to his heart, feet scrambling to catch up as it pulled him along. 

He’d made little effort to stop it—at least until he stood outside the shop’s door. He froze with his hand halfway to the handle, the longing in his chest warring with a sudden flood of uncertainty. 

Was it weird for him to come there just to see Lance? Or worse, maybe he really had imagined Lance showing any amount of interest. After all, Keith was far from the only patron Lance had ever flirted with. In only a month of going to the shop Keith had seen him hit on at least a dozen people. It seemed like it was part of his nature. 

But the hope that fizzled like bubbles beneath his skin wouldn’t be deterred. Even if that were true, he couldn’t deny the desire to see Lance again, to talk to him again. 

Keith couldn’t let his own pessimism get in his way. Not this time. 

He shook his head and cast his negative thoughts aside. He was being ridiculous: there was nothing weird about an innocent crush. 

Yes, okay, he admitted it. He was crushing on Lance. After how he’d drowned the day before there was no point in denying it now. Admission was the first step to progress. Shiro would be proud—exasperated that such a small step had taken so long, but proud nonetheless. 

Keith would sooner die than admit his crush to his best friend, though, so he settled for imaginary Proud Shiro rather than the real-life version. 

Before he could get bowled over by anyone exiting the shop, he closed the distance and yanked open the door, charging headlong into the gentle music and idle chatter that echoed out to the sidewalk. The aromatic scent of ground coffee beans and freshly baking pastries that washed over him would never get old. 

He hadn’t taken more than three steps inside when a familiar, cheerful voice called out, “Well well, the Illustrious Mullet graces us with his presence!”

A few patrons glanced up from their conversations or laptops as Lance’s voice carried over the music drifting down from the speakers. Most, however, had long gotten used to his theatrics and barely blinked an eye. Keith gave a fond roll of his eyes and a half-wave to the barista as he approached the counter. 

Lance grinned in answer, turning back to his work long enough to pour steamed milk from a small silver pitcher onto the top of a latte. After popping the lid on and handing it off to a woman in a pencil skirt and stilettos, he unceremoniously threw the pitcher into a nearby sink and all but raced to meet Keith at the unmanned register. 

Lance nearly skidded past the register in his haste, but managed to catch himself with a hand on the counter and a jerk of his arm that looked painful. After half a second of flailing he pulled himself up straight as an easy smirk slid into place, somehow playing off his momentary spectacle in a way that made it seem downright charming. 

“Two days in a row? Consider me humbled,” Lance said, smooth voice betraying no hint of shame at what had just occurred. He rested his elbows on either edge of the register, leaning down to prop his cheeks up with his fists. The angle made him have to look up at Keith through the fan of his lashes and _fan-fucking-tastic_ , Keith’s heart was already in his throat before he could get out a goddamn word. 

“Lance.” 

Keith finally gave in to the previous day’s temptation to speak his name aloud. Only after did he realize it might be weird to say Lance’s name without it having been explicitly told to him, but Lance’s pleased grin quickly allayed his worries. “I’ll take a—”

“Ah!” Lance flung out a hand, nearly smacking Keith in the face and startling him into cutting himself off. “Before you say it! It was a large cold brew, right? Vanilla and...extra cream?” Before Keith could answer he was already reaching for a cup with one hand and producing his blue sharpie with the other. 

After another moment of silence Lance glanced up and met Keith’s surprised stare. A corner of his grin curled slyly. 

“I’m a pro at remembering people’s orders, no big. I know, I know, my memory’s pretty extraordinary. I’m sure it’s hard for you to contain your praise so please, don’t feel ashamed to show how impressed you are.” 

“Impressed?” Keith repeated, his dry tone hiding the fact that he _was_ actually a little bit impressed. “Don’t think I’d go that far.” 

“Deny it if you want, but holding it in isn’t healthy, dude. Plus your stare says otherwise.” That amused twinkle in Lance’s eye was back and doing dangerous things to Keith’s pulse. “You might want to work on your poker face.” 

Naturally, Keith took that as a challenge and instantly wiped all emotion from his features. It was a look of practiced indifference that he’d mastered over the years, complete with pursed lips and a blank stare. He held that look for a solid three seconds, enough to make it clear that it was purposeful, before pointedly quirking a brow.

Lance barked out a startled laugh. “Or not, damn! You make that look easy, have you taken acting classes or something? No, wait! Let me guess: you’re part robot.” 

A corner of Keith’s lips twitched in his effort to keep from smiling. “Comes from the company I keep.”

Lance’s gasp was theatrical as he recoiled. “Rude! I’ll have you know that I am a fucking delight.” 

Keith didn’t doubt that. “Who says I meant you?” 

“Hey, just making sure you’re not hating on the goods,” Lance raised his cup- and marker-wielding hands in a defensive gesture before puffing out his chest. His preening smile was as overt as a peacock flaunting its feathers. “Not everyone can be as great as me, sad as it is. I’m sorry you have to deal with less awesome people.”

A hint of a smile showed as Keith rolled his eyes. “You’re ranking’s about to go down if you don’t hurry up and finish taking my order,” he teased, fondness in his words and leaking into his eyes even as he tried to do his best impression of an impatient customer. 

“Wow, and here I thought our conversations really meant something. The truth comes out,” Lance chuckled through his mock offense and finally wrote his order on the cup he’d been holding. “Anything else for you?” 

When Keith shook his head Lance punched his order into the register, the cash drawer popping out into his stomach as he took Keith’s payment. “You’re breaking your usual routine here, Mullet,” Lance observed. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you again until Thursday.” 

The casual comment made Keith pause as he stuffed his wallet into his pants pocket, gaze sliding up to meet Lance’s eyes. “You know my usual days?” 

It wasn’t that he tried to hide the fact that he usually came to Castle of Lions Café on Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays before work. They tended to be the busiest days at the garage and Keith braced for it with a coffee as extra motivation. 

But he’d never said as much to any of the shop’s staff. Which meant...

Lance had noticed on his own. 

Lance realized the implication of his words in the same moment Keith did, if the dusting of red that tinged the barista’s ears was any indication. To Lance’s credit, he remained far more composed than Keith would have in his position; his shoulders hunched a bit, but otherwise his expression remained open and carefree as he gave a half-shrug. 

“I figured it out. I mean, you’re kind of hard not to notice, so...” Lance’s gaze dipped for a moment before meeting Keith’s again with all of his usual swagger and an added waggle of his brows. “Just couldn’t stay away from me, could you, Mullet?” 

Keith’s heart stuttered in his ribcage at Lance’s earnest words, but outwardly he remained impassive, some of his previous indifference returning to his face as he arched a single brow. Lance’s tease had hit the nail on the head, but he certainly didn’t need to know that. 

“Sure, right. Because clearly you’re more incentive than the coffee.” 

“Damn right!” Lance crowed, slamming the cash drawer closed with his hip. “Our coffee’s great, yeah, but like I said: I’m a fucking _delight_.” 

Glancing back and forth, Lance leaned forward, cupping a hand around his mouth as his voice dropped to a conspiring whisper, “Between you and me, though, I—” 

“Dude!” 

Before he could finish, a third voice spearheaded Lance’s showboating, drawing both of their gazes down the counter.

Another barista stationed in front of the milk steamer had frozen in his work and turned his attention to the pair at the register. Keith vaguely recognized him just from the number of times he’d been in the shop, but he’d always been too...distracted to catch anyone’s name. He wore a yellow long-sleeved shirt beneath his uniform apron, and the orange headband that held his hair back from his face allowed every inch of his gobsmacked expression to be plainly visible.

“I know you’re not about to diss my brews!” Yellow Shirt shouted. “I know you’re not about to betray me like that!”

Lance snapped to attention with a wince. The other barista was quick to put down the towel he’d been using to wipe down the steamer and planted himself in front of Lance with crossed arms, staring down Lance’s too wide, plastered-on smile. 

Keith felt his hackles raise, set on edge by the sheer size difference between Lance and the man he’d apparently offended. They were close in height but the other had at least twice the girth; compared to Yellow Shirt, Lance might as well have been a toothpick ready to be snapped. 

Keith took an unconscious step towards the counter, warily watching the exchange as every muscle poised to leap the barrier at a moment’s notice. 

“Buddy,” Lance began, waving his arms placatingly. “You didn’t even let me finish, man. As if I’d ever diss your drinks! At this point _I’m_ the one who should be offended. Do you really think so little of me?” 

Yellow Shirt quirked an expectant brow.

Lance coughed and hurriedly continued, “What I was _going_ to say was that ‘not that Hunk doesn’t make the best coffee in town, cause he definitely does, that’s not even a conversation, but I’m just as irresistible.’ And then I was gonna do that same smile that made him go all red yesterday.” 

Lance gestured at Keith helplessly, expression sour. “But no, yeah, this is much better. Thank you, Hunk, for ruining my flawless delivery.” 

Lance crossed his arms and all but pouted, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘some wingman you are.’ 

The other barista’s expression remained blank for half a moment before breaking into a huge grin, and he shoved Lance playfully, allowing the tension to ebb from Keith’s shoulders. Lance continued to pout even as he staggered backwards from the shove. 

“That’s more like it. You should totally pitch that to Allura as our new slogan: we’ve got the best coffee in town, it’s not even a conversation!” Yellow Shirt—Hunk, Lance had called him—gave a grand sweeping gesture only for Lance to swat at his arm. “Hey! What, I think it could really work!”

“Then _you_ can pitch it to Allura,” Lance sniffed, shoving the cup marked with Keith’s order into the other guy’s chest. “Last time I tried to give her marketing ideas she just gave me that disappointed look and kicked me out of her office.”

The other barista pinned Lance with an unimpressed look. “Your brilliant suggestion was to dress up as a giant coffee cup mascot and dance on the corner.”

Lance spluttered for a moment before throwing his arms in the air. “It would’ve brought in kids _and_ their parents! Pidge did the research! And even if she hadn’t, everyone knows dancing, huggable mascots always work!” 

“Wait, wait.” Entertaining as this conversation was, Keith couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Both of the baristas’ attention swung to him as if they’d forgotten he was there. “You _volunteered_ to dress up as a giant coffee cup?”

Lance’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Yes, and my genius—as usual!—went unappreciated. Think about it: no other coffee place has a cute and lovable mascot. The Starbucks mermaid is weird—and that’s coming from Lance Lover-Of-All-Things-Water-Related McClain, so you _know_ it’s true—and The Bean and Leaf on Fourth Avenue can’t have a mascot because it would have to be a _coffee bean_ and that would also be weird.” 

“And...a giant coffee cup would be... _less_ weird?” Keith asked slowly, raising a brow to hopefully distract from how he filed away Lance’s last name like a precious gemstone. 

“Obviously,” Lance huffed, glowering between the other two. They both continued to stare at Lance with mild dismay, and finally he smacked a hand down on the counter. “Pidge did a poll and everything! It would’ve been a hit!” 

“Lance, seriously?” Hunk sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. There was an edge of fondness to his tone, though. “Pidge was messing with you, dude.”

Silence. 

Keith had to stifle a laugh as Lance gaped at Hunk, reeling back with a hand to his chest as if he’d been physically struck. 

“But—! But she had data! Numbers! Pie charts! It was all _color-coded!_ ”

Hunk put a consoling hand on Lance’s shoulder. “All fake. She just wanted you to dress up so she could take pictures.” 

For a moment Lance’s expression remained frozen on the cusp of shock and disbelief, and Keith half expected him to combust on the spot. But then his jaw snapped shut with an audible click and he swatted at Hunk erratically, chasing him back towards his station. 

“And you went along with it? Why would you encourage her?” Lance was practically squawking now. Had Keith not been enjoying the show he would’ve shrunk under the growing attention from the patrons sitting around the shop. 

Hunk yelped, half of Lance’s strikes connecting with his arm and the other half with his back. “She swore me to secrecy! You know how Pidge is, I was not about to get in her way!” 

But Lance was relentless, and Hunk was forced to use one arm to hold him back while the other held Keith’s _still_ empty drink cup. Good thing he hadn’t been in a hurry this morning. 

“Besides, you liked the idea and wanted to do it, so I thought there wouldn’t be any harm?” Hunk’s statement petered off into a question and Lance finally backed off, betrayal melting into a gravely serious expression. 

“You _know_ how dangerous it is to give her blackmail material. Do I need to remind you about the Apron Incident?” Hunk shuddered and Lance raised a brow. “Exactly.” 

“Apron Incident?” Keith piped up again, amusement quirking his lips, only for Hunk to hold out his cup-wielding hand in a stopping motion, the other pressed to his chest as his head bowed. 

“We don’t talk about it. Those were dark times,” he muttered solemnly. 

“Hunk lost a bet and had to run across campus in nothing but his ‘kiss the cook’ apron,” Lance explained, Hunk’s splutter of “dude!” falling on deaf ears. “Pidge got pictures, so Hunk basically had to sell his soul to her to keep them from getting blasted to every corner of the internet.” 

“What did I _just_ say about not talking about those dark times?”

“You were helping Pidge get dirt on me!”

“I wasn’t helping her, I just didn’t stop her!”

“That’s just as bad, dude!” 

Their voices escalated with each shout until finally another barista snapped at them both and threatened to call the manager if they didn’t knock it off. They both hastily apologized, Hunk rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly while Lance tried to win her over with a saccharine smile.

Only once their coworker had been sated did Hunk wander back to the far end of the counter and begin making Keith’s drink. If he heard Lance mutter something about violating the bro code, he ignored it. 

Had he not witnessed similar spectacles starring Lance before, Keith would’ve been surprised at how quickly Lance blew it off like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, leaning with a hip against the counter and arms crossed over his chest. 

Really, nothing out of the ordinary _had_ happened: the staff’s antics were the norm in the shop. It was obvious that they were all friends and got along fine despite their playful bickering. Without it, the shop would’ve been too quiet, emotionless.

A click of Lance’s tongue drew Keith’s attention back to him. There was a devious glint in his eyes as he watched Hunk work, and Keith got the distinct feeling that he was calculating his revenge.

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance of seeing those pictures?” Keith asked with a smirk, purposely ignoring the curl in his gut as the glint in Lance’s eye intensified. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lance said, ominous, toothy grin promising retribution, “you will.” 

Keith snorted, shaking his head. “Poor Hunk.”

At that Lance’s attention whipped to him, gaping. 

“‘Poor _Hunk_ ’? What about poor _Lance?_ Two of my friends betrayed me! _Two!_ At once! How can I ever trust them again? I’ll be forced to hold auditions for a new friend group.” 

“Not again,” Hunk groaned, but Lance ignored it and nodded towards Keith.

“You want in?”

Keith physically bit down on his tongue to keep himself from answering too quickly. “I don’t know,” he said after an appropriately long period of pretending to think it over. “I’ve seen how abusive you can be to your so-called friends.”

Lance flapped a hand at him. “I may be convinced to make you a special case.”

“You just want me for my blank stare, don’t you?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got more than that going for you.” Those blue eyes gave him a less-than-subtle once-over, and Keith shivered all the way down to his toes. “Much more.” 

_Holy shit_. The sudden flood of heat to Keith’s face was so intense that he felt it when his brain detached itself from his body to protect itself. Without any such protection his throat went painfully dry. 

Thankfully Keith was saved from trying to answer by Hunk returning to Lance’s side, cup in hand and bright smile in place. “Order up! One cold brew for Mister...?”

Recognizing his moment to retaliate, Keith recovered enough to smirk as his gaze settled directly on Lance. 

“Bruce Wayne.” 

Honestly Keith couldn’t even pinpoint the exact moment he’d decided to keep up this game—or whatever it was—between them. So long as Lance was smiling, Keith didn’t care what they talked about, or if he looked like a fool. 

So long as it was just playful banter, there was no chance for rejection. 

Whether he’d caught the look that passed between him and Lance or he just thought it was a funny comment in the moment Keith didn’t know, but regardless, Hunk laughed as he handed over the drink. The cup was bigger than what Keith had ordered, but Hunk merely kept it hovering between them until Keith took it with a questioning look. 

“Since this one made you wait so long,” Hunk explained as he turned back to his station, his nod towards Lance going unnoticed by the one in question. 

Those ocean eyes scrutinized Keith, blue depths dancing with a myriad of emotions that he couldn’t quite place. The attention threatened to make him fidget, a fact that he hid by taking a long sip of his coffee. 

“Keeping up the mystery, huh?” Lance’s voice was thoughtful, with an edge of amusement. “Don’t know how far you’ll get through new friend auditions without even telling me your name.” 

Keith swallowed with a pleased hum, eyeing the drink in his hand as he experienced the truth of Hunk’s coffees being the best around. He’d never been unhappy with a drink from Castle of Lions Café, but Hunk’s was impossibly smooth and rich, perfect in every way. 

“What happened to ‘I’ve got other things going for me’?” Keith asked. 

“Yeah, but a name’s a pretty basic thing, dude. Are you going for a whole ‘tall, dark, and mysterious’ vibe?”

“Depends on if it’s working.”

Lance stared at him for a long moment, making a show of looking him over. Finally he rolled his eyes, expression petulant, like he didn’t want to say the words that eventually came out, “You know, I can’t even believe it, but it is? Like, stupidly well.” 

_That_ was unexpected. Keith nearly snorted his next sip, glaring at Lance while he snickered. “What? I can totally picture you standing on an abandoned rooftop, looking out over Gotham City and brooding. You’re already wearing all black. All you need’s a cape and a mask.” 

Sure enough, Keith’s ensemble for the day was indeed almost entirely black: black jeans, plain gray v-neck shirt, black fingerless gloves. The only splashes of color were his dingy red shoelaces and the small, silver hoop earring in his right ear. 

“I work in an auto garage; black hides the oil stains,” he defended himself with a shrug. Now that he thought about it, most of his wardrobe was black or other dark colors, but his logic still stood. 

Lance gave a thoughtful hum, and Keith could practically see him file that tidbit of information about him away. 

“Speaking of,” Keith continued, “I should go.” 

As he said as much he backed towards the door with reluctant steps. He kept his gaze on Lance, sure he saw disappointment hamper the brightness of his eyes before his signature grin was back in place. 

Lance gave a two-fingered salute. “Keep an eye out for the Bat Signal in case we need you.”

Keith easily feigned surprise, glancing innocently around the room. “Bat Signal? I, Bruce Wayne—not Batman—don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Too bad, Batman seems like a cool guy. Plus he’s _ho-t!_ ” 

Lance’s shameless shout echoed after him as Keith stepped outside, the slam of the shop door cutting off his whoops of laughter as Keith choked on his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunk totally came off as intimidating on purpose lol. He is best bro and had to test the Potential BF (nods sagely). Also, disclaimer that I have nothing against the Starbucks mermaid, my blue son is just Ridiculous. 
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Bro Talk™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hunk is the best bro, but even he has his limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, everyone! I just realized that I'm a horrible person and haven't done this yet, so: super special shoutout to my amazing beta reader and kick-ass friend, Emily!! YOU ARE THE BEST GIRL this fic wouldn't have been possible without you! ;w; <3

He’d never been to Castle of Lions Café on a Wednesday before. 

At first glance nothing seemed different. Business may have been a bit slower than the last two days, but it was hard to tell. The shop seemed calmer, quieter, and while normally the relaxed air of the shop would’ve put Keith at ease, he found himself fidgeting as soon as he stepped through the door.

Something was off. Something was _missing_. 

It only took a quick glance over the shop to realize what it was. 

“Is Lance working today?” Keith asked Hunk after he’d ordered, trying for curious nonchalance and landing closer to hopeful. 

Hunk glanced over at him when he spoke, seemingly just realizing he was there. The big man was the picture of efficiency as he churned out drink after drink, both for the drive-thru and in-store customers. Keith watched him move quickly and seamlessly, with more grace than he expected from a coffee shop barista, and couldn’t stop how his brows raised with awe. 

Once he handed off a cup to the person manning the drive-thru, Hunk turned to Keith. “Nah, Lance has Wednesdays off for classes,” he answered without breaking his rhythm. 

“Oh.” 

The single word dropped like a stone to the floor, heavy as the disappointment that settled in his chest. 

Logically Lance couldn’t work _every_ day, but his absence still popped the bubble of giddy anticipation Keith had been living in since he woke up. He tried to keep it from showing on his face, but could feel his brows furrowing and shoulders slumping of their own accord. 

Hunk took another look at him and laughed, a rich, hearty sound that was full of warmth. Keith leveled him with a halfhearted glare. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Hunk placated with one hand, the other mixing ingredients in a silver pitcher, “you looked like a kicked puppy there, I couldn’t help it.” 

Dark eyes blinked at him, Keith’s shoulders hunching inward and brows quirking down. “Am I that obvious?” But Hunk only laughed again, and this time Keith’s scowl was full-fledged. 

“You really don’t want me to answer that, dude.”

He could feel the tingle of red rising in his cheeks but was powerless to stop it, so instead he turned to lean sideways against the counter and ducked his head down into the collar of his jacket. When he risked a glance at Hunk the other was giving him a soft, open look, and it helped Keith feel a bit better about being caught. 

“You’re not alone in it, so don’t feel bad. Lance gets the same look on days you don’t come in.” 

It was said so candidly that it took a moment longer than it should have for the meaning to sink in. When it did, Keith whipped his gaze to Hunk so fast that he felt his neck crick. 

“What?” 

“Oh yeah, Lance is just as obvious. But I guess he also doesn’t really try to hide it.” Hunk continued making his drink as he spoke, casual as if his words weren’t making Keith’s blood sing. “The first couple days without you were the worst, but once he realized you were coming on certain days he got better. He’d still whine at me, but at least he toned down the dramatic sighing and staring longingly out the window.” 

Keith’s brain shut down and forced him to stop listening before his heart beat out of his chest. He knew his jaw was hanging open but couldn’t bring himself to care when he couldn’t so much as _breathe_. His fingers dug into the leather of his jacket where his arms were crossed to hide how they quivered.

Surely Hunk was joking. He didn’t seem like a malicious person, but Keith couldn’t help but think this had to be some sick prank, that the millions of butterflies swarming in his chest were about to be torched and his happiness snatched away before it could fully take root. 

His expression no doubt laid his shock and mistrust bare, but even so, Hunk continued to cast him looks free of judgement, only offering a knowing smile. He also must’ve seen how Keith’s brain had crashed worse than the Titanic into the iceberg, and mercifully finished his drink in silence so Keith could restart his brain functions. 

He also didn’t take any of it back, which made the process far more laborious.

When Hunk set his drink on the counter in front of him Keith had finally rebooted. He took the cup mechanically, if for no other reason than to have something to occupy his hands. 

“Does—” Keith’s voice cracked halfway through, and he had to swallow before he could continue, “Does Lance really do that? About _me?_ ” 

“It’s kind of adorable,” Hunk said by way of confirmation, and _fuck_ there went Keith’s power of coherent thought again, it’d been nice to have for the five seconds it lasted. 

A strangled wheezing sound escaped him, and he turned fully forward so he could grip the edge of the counter. He still couldn’t take a full breath and he was fairly sure lacking this much oxygen to his brain was liable to make him pass out. 

“Actually...you’re _both_ kind of adorable.” 

Keith glared at Hunk through the curtain of hair in front of his face. Hunk just shrugged. 

“So...you’re gonna keep coming, right?”

Even if Hunk’s voice hadn’t gone soft and earnest, the question would’ve been enough to snap Keith out of his haze. His eyes jerked up and he flinched, offended at the mere thought of doing anything else. 

“Of course.” 

He hadn’t meant to infuse his words with fire but there it was, a hard edge that turned them from a statement into a promise. 

An incredible lightness surged through his limbs and his heart catapulted into the clouds. All the longing looks he’d cast Lance’s way when his back was turned, all the times he’d felt pulled into his orbit, attracted to his brightness and warmth...

He couldn’t fathom Lance _returning_ it. He’d hardly dared dream as much could be true, and now that he was face to face with the reality, Keith felt like he was dreaming and never wanted to wake up. He had no idea what he’d done to gain Lance’s attention, but now that he had it, he wouldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. 

“Uh, dude, you’re gonna—”

Suddenly there was a crunch and Keith yelped, his death grip on his coffee cup making it burst. Liquid splattered the counter and dripped down his hand as he cursed, scrambling to pull napkins from the dispenser next to him and nearly yanking the entire thing off the counter in his haste.

Thankfully, Hunk ducked below the countertop and emerged with a roll of paper towel, ripping off a few and handing them to Keith before tearing off a handful for himself and helping to blot the seeping mess. Keith offered him an apologetic grin, muttering thanks and wiping off his sticky fingers. 

“You’re also both hopeless,” Hunk chuckled, and Keith’s cheeks burned. “Let me make you another one.” 

He started the process before Keith could protest, and so he didn’t bother, instead focusing on cleaning up the mess he’d made. At least his clothes had been spared, but he would probably still smell like coffee for the rest of the day. His nose wrinkled as he struggled to shove the huge wad of sullied paper towels into a trashcan. 

When he returned to the counter Hunk had finished his second attempt at the beverage, raising a pointed brow at him before handing it over with more caution than necessary, as if the cup might explode again from mere proximity to Keith’s hand. He held it gingerly, just in case. 

“I get that Lance is dreamy, but try to keep breathing this time.”

If Keith’s embarrassment hadn’t been complete before, it sure was now. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to glare at the guy who’d not only made him a free drink, but had also given him arguably the best news of his life. 

Lance liked him too. He actually had a chance. 

“Sure,” Keith said instead, at the tail end of a breathless laugh. 

A fond sound escaped the larger man, and Keith looked up to see Hunk offering him a soft smile. After a moment he held a hand between them, and Keith took it and gave a single shake. 

“Hunk, also known as Lance’s best friend,” he introduced himself formally. Keith’s eyes widened a fraction, but the other only grinned, and Keith chose to believe it was a good sign. 

“Keith.”

Hunk’s grin widened as he retracted his arm, idly shoving his hands into the pocket of his apron. “So, _Keith_ ,” he purposely drew out the name as his smile grew even brighter, “you gonna keep up with the fake names, or...?”

Oh. Right. 

Shit.

He hadn’t thought about that. Instantly his high spirits deflated, lips pursing. 

Lance’s best friend knew his name now; could he really keep that up? He _wanted_ to, liked the playful banter it allowed them and loved watching the amusement in Lance’s eyes. 

Eventually he gave Hunk a questioning look. “Yes?”

Hunk only nodded. “Good. I love the guy, I really do, but sometimes he just deserves to squirm a little, you know? Maybe you can take his bravado down a peg.” A pause. “Plus it’ll be even funnier to listen to him guess now that I know.” 

Keith’s brows raised at that. “He tries to guess?”

“Oh yeah, almost every time you’ve been in,” Hunk waved a casual hand as he turned back to his station, falling back into his previous rhythm as if he’d never stopped at all. “I think ‘Axel’ was my personal favorite.” 

“Oh my god, seriously?” Keith snorted, and all the lingering tension left his body along with the sound. 

He spent the next ten minutes listening to Hunk recount all the names Lance had guessed for him. He left the coffee shop far later than he should have feeling lighter than air, and didn’t even mind having to sprint the mile distance to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry today's chapter was short, but it was also about the Hunk/Lance and Hunk/Keith broships and that is Very Important Content to address, haha. XD
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	4. How to End Lance McClain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance fucking dies, for real, goodbye my blue son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta-reader affectionately dubbed this "the crack chapter" and like?? I can't even deny it?? Honestly that's probably why I love this chapter so much, haha. I hope you're all ready for Lance's ridiculousness at its finest. xD

Keith rubbed at his eyes as he walked to the shop Thursday morning, steps trudging more than usual and a yawn pulling from him every few minutes. 

It was entirely his own fault that his usual Morning Person Energy had abandoned him; when he’d finally gotten to work the day before, his boss had told him that the parts he’d ordered for his bike had come in. After his shift he’d stayed at the garage all evening working on it, and hadn’t gotten home until past midnight. Considering the progress he’d made he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

He was so bleary-eyed that he almost didn’t notice the photograph stuck to the glass door of the shop. 

He pushed open the door and got halfway through before his brain caught up with his eyes and he did a double take, jaw falling open and eyes widening in a mix of shock and amusement that pulled a choked laugh from his throat. 

Despite the blur that made it clear the figure in the photo was moving when it had been taken, he could easily recognize Hunk’s face—and the apron that read “kiss the cook” in swirly pink font. He’d been captured mid-sprint, running across an open courtyard crisscrossed with pathways and dotted with trees. It was dark in the photo, but there were silhouettes in the background, and a light source out of frame illuminated Hunk enough to tell that the rest of him was buck naked beneath the apron. 

Keith stumbled inside snorting with laughter, only made worse when he looked around and saw that nearly every other patron was snickering as well. Flecks of tape and blue sticky tack littered the shop walls and the flat front of the counter, marking each space where the same photograph no doubt used to hang. The mental image of the big man rushing around the shop and tearing down every last picture was enough to make him snort. 

Too bad he’d missed the one on the _front door_. 

Lance had definitely gotten his revenge. 

Keith was still snickering as he approached the counter. No employees were in sight, but shouting and an occasional crash echoed out from the supply room behind and off to the right of the counter. Flashes of flailing limbs and Lance and Hunk’s faces could be seen through the circular windows. Their words were muffled through the closed double-doors, but he could tell that their voices were octaves higher than usual. 

Somehow he doubted they’d be finished anytime soon. Keith leaned a hip against the counter by the register and crossed his arms, content to watch the snatches of the spectacle he could catch through the windows. 

He’d only been standing there for a few minutes when Hunk glanced through the window and caught his eye. The big guy froze, staring at Keith, before a huge, shit-eating grin split his features. Keith raised a brow back at him. 

Lance’s worried tone could barely be heard, but then his face appeared in the other window, blue eyes meeting Keith’s amused gaze, and his expression morphed into one of unrestrained horror. He opened his mouth but then suddenly disappeared from the window, his shout lost in a crash that resounded through the café before Hunk barreled through the doors. 

“Dude!” Hunk’s voice was breathless yet filled with malicious delight as he ran straight at Keith. For a second Keith thought Hunk was going to bulldoze straight _through_ the counter, but then he crashed into the edge belly-first with so much force that the impact traveled through the wood and Keith’s bones vibrated. 

“Yes!” Hunk crowed, leaning forward with one hand braced on the counter. The other withdrew from his pants pocket holding a cell phone. “This is _so_ perfect, dude, just hang on—stay right there I have to show you something. Oh man, this is so great, _thank you_ for coming in today cause oh my gosh this is too—”

One of the double doors slammed open to reveal a flash of Lance scrambling to his feet. “ _Hunk!_ ” he screeched, but the door hit the wall and swung back just as he ran forward, whacking him in the chest. There was an _oof_ and a _thud_ that Keith assumed was him falling on his ass. 

Hunk was completely unperturbed, muttering to himself and a thumb scrolling across his phone screen. “I know I have it in here, come on, come on—aha! Okay okay, here—” 

He waved Keith forward and turned his phone, but Keith couldn’t even get a glimpse before Lance burst out of the supply room like a bat out of hell. His short hair stuck up at odd angles and his face was obviously red. His normally bright, relaxed gaze was wide and wild, and zeroed in on Hunk with frightening intensity. 

A wordless battle cry exploded from his lips and he hurled himself forward. Keith leapt away from the counter with a startled laugh.

Lance collided with Hunk’s side, the big guy yelping but barely budging. “Hunk, don’t you _dare!_ ” Lance’s arms flailed and snatched at Hunk’s phone, but Hunk planted his free hand on Lance’s shoulder and easily held him at arm’s length. 

“Oh, I dare! This is payback, man!” Hunk grinned victoriously and gestured with his phone-wielding hand for Keith to come closer again, to which Keith none-too-subtly eyed Lance’s wildly flailing arms. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep the grin from his face.

“I am _not_ above biting, dude!” Lance threatened. “I have four siblings, I _know_ how to play dirty!”

“You deserve it!”

“ _You_ deserved it! You sold me out to Pidge!” 

“You put up embarrassing pictures in _our workplace!_ ” 

“It was only a couple!” 

“A couple _dozen!_ What if Shay had stopped in today?”

“Then she would’ve _thanked_ me!” Lance’s usual cocky smirk slid into place long enough for him to waggle his eyebrows, but it was quickly replaced by a pointed glare. “You brought this upon yourself, Hunk! Betrayal hurts, doesn’t it?” 

Keeping his composure was a losing battle. Keith stopped trying to hold back his amused grin and the entertainment in his eyes, audibly snickering. 

Lance’s gaze flicked to him, then, and his flush darkened. He jerked with renewed vigor, long limbs thrashing. “Now put. The phone. Down! I swear I will gnaw your fingers off!” 

“If you hurt my hands you’ll never be able to eat my cookies again.” 

All at once Lance froze. His eyes went comically wide and Keith smirked as he looked helplessly between him and Hunk. 

“Okay. Okay okay okay—” Lance tugged a hand through his already wild hair, the motion dislodging a small shower of coffee grounds that had apparently been caught in the strands, and Keith was suddenly very curious to see the mess they’d made of the supply room. 

“Hunk, my buddy, my pal, my best bro. Please, for the love of all that is fresh baked and chocolate covered. I’m sorry. I’ll burn all the pictures. I’ll delete them from my phone. I’ll do your laundry for a week—no, a month! I’ll let you throw me in the Rec Center pool. I’ll treat you and Shay to a fancy dinner. Just—please, my dude, have mercy! Hunk? Hunk!” 

Lance’s words ran together, increasing in both speed and volume the longer Hunk’s wicked grin refused to fade. Finally Lance’s expression crumbled, his gorgeous blue eyes wide and glistening in the most over-the-top rendition of puppy dog eyes Keith had ever seen, complete with a pouting lip. 

It was ridiculous. Where did he get off making it look so endearing? Keith had to hand it to the big guy’s resilience: he would probably do anything in the face of that look. 

The baristas locked eyes and the entire shop went silent. The gentle music filtering down from the ceiling was unbearably loud in the tense air between them.

Then Hunk turned his phone forward, a picture on screen. 

To be fair, if their positions were reversed, Keith would’ve put up just as much of a fight as Lance was. He would’ve hoped that Lance would do him the good grace of not looking at whatever embarrassing picture was being shown. 

But, then again, he’d have to be crazy to turn down the chance to see embarrassing pictures of his big dumb crush.

Keith just couldn’t resist this kind of temptation.

He stepped up and leaned forward, peering at the proffered picture and ignoring Lance’s indignant shriek of “Mullet, no!”

Retribution for his own weakness was swift.

In the picture, Lance sat on a sandy beach, the edge of the surf just visible at the top of the frame. Someone unfamiliar, a short girl with ginger hair that stuck up every which way and a pair of large glasses perched on her nose, stood behind Lance and was in the middle of dumping a bucket full of sand over his head. Even through the sand curtain Keith could see Picture-Lance’s pout accented by a crudely drawn mustache. On top of it all, Picture-Lance was sunburned to hell and red as a lobster all over. Even the tips of his toes looked like cherry tomatoes. 

It was a little hilarious and a lot _adorable_. 

But it only took a few moments of studying the picture for him to see past the embarrassing factors that Hunk no doubt wanted him to focus on, and, with slow realization, Keith’s eyes widened and his throat went dry. 

Unsurprising considering the photo’s setting, Picture-Lance was wearing a bathing suit: simple blue swim trunks with two white stripes running down either side seam. And, despite that he was burned bright red, the fact remained that it put miles of smooth skin on display. 

Keith’s eyes roved over a toned chest and broad shoulders. Drank in the lean, corded muscles of his arms and legs. ‘ _A swimmer’s body,_ ’ Keith thought a bit hysterically, feeling his face tingle as blood rushed to his cheeks and turned him as red as Picture-Lance. Even then he couldn’t pull his attention away. 

He hadn’t gotten nearly long enough of a look when Lance somehow slipped out of Hunk’s grasp and leapt onto his back with a shout, arms locking around his shoulders and legs around his stomach. Hunk grunted and stumbled in surprise, dropping his phone and sending it sliding across the counter onto the floor, and in that moment, watching Lance flail on Hunk’s back and yank him around like some kind of screeching piggy-back demon, Keith was finally broken.

Keith broke down into full, uninhibited laughter, fueled by the spectacle of the past few minutes and his own embarrassment frothing in his chest. It shook his shoulders and forced him to bend over, partly to hide his red cheeks and partly to brace himself against the counter. His grin was so wide that it hurt. 

He didn’t know how long it took for him to get ahold of himself. During that time he was vaguely aware of the continued squawking and squabbling behind the counter and the laughter of other patrons. There was a lightness in his head and a giddy tingling under his skin, and all Keith could think was that Lance was ridiculous and adorable and somehow still fucking gorgeous even when he looked like a lobster about to be thrown into the pot.

Eventually the ache in his lungs grew to be too much, and Keith drew in a long breath. His grin didn’t fade even as his laughter subsided, and he slowly drew his eyes upward. 

Lance had stopped his flailing in favor of burying his face in Hunk’s shoulder. All the fight had drained from him and his arms and legs hung limply, forcing Hunk to hold him up with arms stretched backwards beneath his backside lest he fall. Keith could only see a sliver of his forehead, but it was clearly as neon red as it had been in the picture.

A long, high-pitched whine emanated out from the crook of Hunk’s neck. “I hate you.” 

“There there, buddy,” Hunk comforted, nudging Lance’s head with his own. “I got my revenge, we’re even now.”

“My skincare routine was in shambles for weeks,” came Lance’s muffled, broken mumble. Hunk chuckled, and Lance flopped a noodle arm at his chest. “You can’t exfoliate peeling skin, Hunk!” 

“Aww, bro, don’t be dramatic. Yeah you were red but you were still baby smooth.”

At that Lance shifted, turning his head enough for his pouty, trembling lips to be visible. “Really? Thanks, bro.” 

But then his eyes snapped to Keith, his pout intensifying as he pointed an accusing finger. He was probably trying to look mad, but he came off as more of an angry puppy. Something nonthreatening, like a chihuahua or a corgi. 

“And you! How dare you look at my shame! After I promised you a special place in my ‘new friend auditions’ and everything. That cuts deep, man.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Keith aimed for a dry tone, but he could hear the edge of fondness that slipped into it. 

“Uh, _no_.”

“I’m with Hunk: you deserved it,” Keith told him mercilessly. The words made him remember, and his arms uncrossed to gesture at the shop’s entrance. “Oh, there’s still one on the front door.” 

The other two blinked at him before realization dawned on Hunk’s features. He made a strangled noise and unceremoniously dumped Lance on his ass, hurrying around the counter and over to the door.

“Wait—!” Lance’s yelp was cut off with a groan once he hit the ground. Keith leaned over the counter far enough to see Lance flat on his back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with startled eyes. 

Keith snorted. Out of all the ridiculousness that he’d witnessed over a month of coming to Castle of Lions Café, this by far took the cake. 

“This place should advertise coffee and a show,” he teased. Standing on his toes and stretching as far as he could, Keith wordlessly reached a hand over the counter. 

Those oceanic eyes were bleary as they slowly swung to look up at him, but, after a few owlish blinks, Lance’s gaze refocused on Keith’s hand. It was hard to tell with how red he’d been throughout the whole ordeal, but Keith swore Lance’s cheeks darkened a shade as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. 

His smile was sheepish as he accepted Keith’s help. Lance’s hand was a bit larger than his, and incredibly soft. Warmth shot up Keith’s arm, and he swallowed hard to combat his own blush. 

Keith tugged sharply and Lance groaned as he rose to his feet. Once he straightened his other hand rubbed at the back of his head. “Guess I deserved that too, huh? Thanks, man.” 

“No problem,” Keith assured, the words paired with a small smile. It wasn’t until that moment that Keith realized their hands were still intertwined. He gently tugged his hand back, aiming for nonchalance as he cleared his throat, “I obviously have to ask if there’s a story behind that picture.”

The ghost of disappointment in Lance’s eyes vanished as he cringed. His hand slid down the back of his neck and rubbed at his nape in a shy gesture, and Keith had to fight to keep his gaze from following the motion. 

“Yeah...I, uh, may have fallen asleep sunbathing? For four hours?”

“Oh my god,” Keith laughed. There was no harshness in his tone, though; no judgement or mean spirit, only warmth. 

Lance looked at him for a long moment. The redness in his cheeks seemed to fade a little, and he gave his own breathy laugh. “Yeah, but I’m still, like, eighty percent sure Pidge laced my iced tea with sleeping pills so she could draw on my face.” 

“I’ve never met Pidge, but why do I feel like that’s not the only time she’s drawn on your face?” 

“Oh, it wasn’t,” Hunk piped up as he came back around to the worker’s side of the counter, making a show of shoving a fistful of ripped up paper in the trash. His raised brows and sideways smile made it obvious his words were a last bit of payback for the final picture. “The mustache is one of her favorites to draw on her victims: it’s modeled after our boss’s friend. He has an actual mustache like that. It’s pretty glorious.” 

Lance nodded at his side. “Good word for it, dude.” 

“She did this crazy eyebrow thing to him once, though, that might’ve been my favorite,” Hunk went on with a gesture at his own eyebrows, and Lance stiffened.

“Hunk, stop—”

“Imagine them like three times as bushy—”

“Dude, you said you got your revenge—”

“And pointed at the ends. Actually, I think I have a picture of that one, too! Let me just—”

“ _Ooookay_ , don’t you think it’s time to make the man’s drink, Hunk?” Lance shoved at him as he bent down to retrieve his phone from the floor, sending him stumbling a few steps forward. “Ignore him, ignore everything he says and shows you, it’s all lies.”

Hunk cast Lance a look when he straightened, shaking his head and turning his attention to Keith. “The usual?”

Keith already had his wallet out when he nodded. Lance completed the transaction and tossed the receipt in the trash next to the drive-thru register. By the time he spun back around the last of his flush had faded into a happy glow that made Keith’s stomach flip. 

“And what name should we call you by today?”

A mischievous smirk tilted the corners of his lips in the same instant that suspicion sparked in Lance’s eyes. Keith _had_ planned a name for today, but he knew a golden opportunity when he saw one.

“Don’t you da—”

“Larry the Lobster.” 

Lance’s eyes narrowed, but it was ruined by how his bottom lip stuck out. He groaned and bent forward to thunk his head on the counter. 

“Huuuuuuunk!” 

The big man’s answering laugh echoed through the shop. Lance raised up just enough to bring his head back down with a harsh _smack_.

"I hate you guys so much!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance's dramatics give me life lol 
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	5. Ground Rules and Other Very Important Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith and Lance are so gone for each other that I completely lose control over everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys, here's the thing about this chapter. First of all it's one of my favorites, and aside from the final chapter, it's my beta's favorite, too. 
> 
> But I also have _no idea how this chapter even happened????_ I legit had one small conversation planned in my outline and then winged it, and...HERE WE ARE. These two are just so in love and pining for each other that as soon as I loosened the leash they went wild and THIS happened. I love it, but damn, this chapter goes so many places I did not anticipate, haha. xD
> 
> On an unrelated note, WHO'S READY FOR SEASON 7 Y'ALL? 8'D I'm mildly terrified but I'm also just so glad my red son is gonna be back with the group, I've missed him so much (cries). I won't be able to watch it until Saturday night, unfortunately, so now that this is posted I'm staying off the internet religiously until then, haha. 
> 
> GOOD LUCK, MY DUDES. MAY ALL OF OUR HEARTS SURVIVE.

“Jim Hawkins—and yes, I’ll judge you if you don’t know who that is.”

Lance scoffed as he withdrew his blue sharpie from his apron. One hand already held an empty cup, and he glanced between the two items occupying his hands for a moment before shrugging. 

Keith was nowhere near prepared enough to watch as Lance, cool as a fucking cucumber, closed his lips around the sharpie cap and yanked it off with his teeth in one sharp pull and _holy fucking shit_ , that really should not have been as hot as it was, calm the _fuck_ down, Kogane. 

A horribly embarrassing sound was building in his throat and Keith clamped down on it before it could escape. It was for naught, though, since Lance’s roguish grin paired with a wink proved that he’d already been caught and _wow_ , okay, that was a dangerous combination that did absolutely nothing to quell the rush of heat under his skin. 

Lance scribbled the order on the cup only to step away from the register and begin making the drink himself. Keith followed helplessly, stepping to the pick-up section of the counter with disjointed steps, caught in Lance’s gravitational pull with no hope of escape. 

At least Lance’s attention diverted for a few seconds as he pushed up the sleeves of his dusty blue Henley shirt and began gathering ingredients. Keith took full advantage of it to school his expression from ‘holy shit bite _me_ next’ to casual indifference.

“Don’t insult me, dude,” Lance went on, nonchalant as if he hadn’t just given Keith a minor stroke. He made a show of selecting a silver pitcher from a line-up of them sitting next to the sink. “‘Treasure Planet’ rules. You’re an obscure Disney fan, huh?”

Mentally shaking himself, Keith scrambled to find his voice. He hadn’t known if today’s monicker would be recognizable—it may be his personal favorite, but ‘Treasure Planet’ wasn’t exactly well known—but he was glad he wasn’t now forced to switch to a more cultured coffee shop. 

He cleared his throat as casually as he could, pleased when his fluster didn’t show in his voice. “The newer ones are fine, but pretty much all overrated; the obscure ones are some of the best.” 

“Thank you!” Lance exclaimed, slam-dunking the container of cream he’d been holding down onto the counter. A bit sloshed out the top of the carton and for half a second Lance’s face broke into panic, but the drops landed on the counter instead of in Keith’s in-progress drink and his hunched shoulders relaxed. “You hear that, Hunk? That means ‘Atlantis’ is a perfectly acceptable choice of favorite Disney movie!” 

The big guy perked at the sound of his name, looking up from where he was wiping down one of the tables along the wall across from the counter. For a moment he blinked at the two of them, looking between Keith’s even gaze and Lance’s expectant look before registering that he’d been brought into the conversation. 

“Dude, no—I told you, ‘Atlantis’ rules, I just don’t get how your favorite isn’t ‘The Little Mermaid’!” Hunk defended as he went back to wiping a damp rag across the table. “You wanted to be a mermaid when you grew up until you were at least twelve.”

Keith’s brows shot upward as Lance squeaked—actually _squeaked_. What the _actual fuck_ kind of noise was that and what _fucking business_ did it have doing fluttery things to Keith’s heart? An all too familiar shade of red rose to the barista’s cheeks, making his freckles stand out prettily against his skin and the blue of his eyes seem even brighter. Distantly Keith wondered how it was fair for anyone to look so adorable while mortified. 

“You can’t just _say_ things like that, Hunk!” Lance finally managed, shaking a fist at his friend. His eyes flicked pointedly between Hunk and Keith, but Hunk only rolled his own eyes back.

“But it’s the truth? Half the time I still think you wish you were a mermaid with how much time you spend at the pool.” 

Lance’s lips pressed together and Keith got the distinct impression that he’d be witnessing a recurrence of yesterday’s piggy-back disaster if Hunk was standing closer. 

“I’m on the swim team, Hunk.”

“The Rec Center was basically your second home even before that,” Hunk chuckled, his attention diverting to Keith. “Seriously though, Lance is like, immune to getting wrinkly in the water, it’s crazy. He can stay in there for hours before he gets even a little prune-y. Pidge actually ran tests on him once to see if he’s part fish.”

That earned Lance a sideways glance. The taller boy merely shrugged, red still coloring his cheeks as he went back to making Keith’s order. Something told Keith he didn’t want to know just what those tests had entailed. 

“And anyway, don’t even pretend you don’t love all the princess movies,” Hunk continued. “I heard you blasting ‘Let it Go’ when you got out of your car yesterday.” He cupped his free hand around his mouth as he stage-whispered across the shop, “Lance thinks he’s all that, but he’s got nothing on Idina Menzel.” 

“Traitor!” Lance instantly leapt to his own defense with so much gusto that Keith was genuinely surprised when he didn’t also leap up onto the counter. 

He didn’t seem to be as adept as Hunk at upholding a conversation and preparing drinks at the same time; Lance’s eyes kept up a continuous cycle between the two of them and the pitcher, concentration prevalent beneath his mock rage. Maybe it was because a large portion of this particular conversation made him feel the need to be dramatically offended, but it seemed to take a physical effort for Lance to turn his attention back to the half-finished beverage as he defended himself. 

“Don’t listen to him, my singing is a joy, on par with sirens and the hymns of angels,” Lance sniffed. 

“Sirens use their voices to kill people,” Keith interjected, eyeing the way Lance stirred and poured with a determined crease to his brow. The tip of Lance’s tongue stuck out in that adorable way that Keith recognized meant that he was concentrating—at least until he looked up again to shoot a halfhearted glare his way. 

Keith chuckled as Lance pointed the long, silver spoon he was using to mix the drink at him, thrusting it towards him for threatening emphasis. Drops of coffee spattered the counter with each thrust. 

“Idina might be a _queen_ but she can _fight_ me, my singing is _beautiful_.” 

“Right,” Keith drawled, arms crossing in stubborn disbelief. Truthfully the whole conversation had him terribly curious. He had to fight to keep the intrigue from his tone. “I’d have to hear that to believe it.” 

He couldn’t help a smirk as Lance narrowed his eyes at him, finishing up his drink and snapping the lid on with more force than necessary. “ _You_ ,” Lance pointed a finger at Keith this time, “can also fight me if you don’t believe me. I—” 

All at once Lance’s scowl melted away. A mischievous glint sparked in his eye as he handed Keith his coffee. For half a second his fingers brushed Keith’s in the transaction, and had he not been currently on the receiving end of Lance’s attention, Keith would’ve rolled his eyes at himself for how such a fleeting touch was enough to make the digits tingle. 

“I’ll show you!” Lance exclaimed to the background of Hunk groaning. Keith quirked a questioning brow as Lance whipped his cell phone from his apron pocket. “I’ll get Pidge to hijack the shop speakers and make you eat your words!”

“You know Pidge isn’t going to come all the way here just to help you deafen our regulars,” Hunk admonished, throwing his rag over his shoulder with a defeated sigh. 

Lance waved a dismissive hand. “She did it once before—”

“Yeah, and Allura almost beat your ass—”

“Unjustifiably might I add, my girl Nicki is better than Allura’s drab Dead Classical Guy playlists any day—”

“She also said she _would_ fire you if you did it again—”

“Allura loves me, she would never.”

Hunk’s unimpressed look was enough to make Keith snort. 

Lance, however, remained unfazed. His thumbs tapped away at his phone screen for an extended moment, his brows furrowing cutely as he stared down at the text message he was apparently composing, and he gave a short nod before he looked up again. 

“And you know sibling stories are my favorites, Hunk, how could you use that against me?” Lance threw himself back against the counter with enough force that the pitchers next to the sink rattled. He draped a dramatic arm across his forehead, cell phone dangling from his hand, and leaned backward far enough to be practically looking at Keith upside-down. 

“They’re sisters and they love each other! ‘Frozen’ is a beautiful story of repairing a broken family relationship! If that shit doesn’t warm your heart then you have no heart,” he proclaimed as Hunk moved onto the next empty table.

“No, it definitely does,” Hunk agreed, “but seriously, Allura _will_ kill you.”

Lance’s phone chimed before he could respond and he rushed to check the message, leaving the hair at his forehead sticking straight up from where his arm had pressed against the strands. Keith watched with probably a bit too much fondness in his gaze, automatically going to take a sip of his coffee to hide his smile.

It wasn’t until Keith went to take a drink that he suddenly realized that Lance had never actually _made_ it for him before. All at once he drew up short, pausing to stare down at the innocent-looking cup in silent awe. 

Thankfully Lance was too caught up in texting Pidge to notice the way Keith carefully brought the cup to his lips and took a measured sip, eyes widening just so as he urged his mediocre palette to savor the flavor that flooded his tongue. 

Logically Keith knew it was the same drink he’d had every day for weeks. It wasn’t even quite as good as Hunk’s, although it was close—Hunk’s coffees were still just a bit smoother, perfectly chilled like sweet winter air down his throat. But this one...

Keith’s drink was over ice, cold permeating the cup and seeping into his fingers. But, somehow, knowing it had been crafted by Lance’s hands specifically for him made a single sip enough to warm him from the inside. It blossomed out from behind his heart and spread all the way to his toes, counteracting the cold of his fingertips as he held the cup almost reverently, cradled to his chest, telling himself it wasn’t stupid when Lance had clearly put serious effort into the drink. 

By the time Keith came back to reality it was just in time to witness Lance’s expression crumble.

“Aww, Pidge is no fun,” Lance muttered, bottom lip pouting out as he faced forward and lowered himself down to rest his elbows on the counter, propping his head in his hands and subsequently smooshing his phone into his cheek. He stuck his tongue out at Hunk’s ‘“I told you so!”

Watching the way Lance deflated made everything that had just been warm in Keith’s chest go frigid. This was different from his theatrical pouting from the day before; he could tell by the droop in Lance’s shoulders that he was genuinely disappointed. Keith’s free hand clenched where it was hidden below the counter, his thumb rubbing at his knuckles as he scrambled for a way to cheer Lance up. 

“Well...you don’t need to use the shop speakers to play music,” Keith tried, nodding to Lance’s phone. 

Keith felt Hunk glaring a hole into his back, but his attention was entirely captured by ocean blue as Lance looked up at him from under his long lashes. At first Lance’s lips quirked in just a hint of a smile, but then, like the clouds parting, his grin grew bright and blinding, and Keith was powerless to do anything but return it as the coldness in his ribcage thawed as if that smile held the power of the sun. It might as well have for how dazzled Keith was each and every time. 

“Hey, you’re right! Pretty _and_ a genius, huh? Careful, Mullet, or I’m liable to start swooning,” Lance teased with a wink, and Keith’s cheeks _flamed_. “But not as hard as you’re about to once I blow you away! Prepare to witness the Karaoke King!” 

“Oh boy, here we go,” Hunk lamented from across the way as Lance furiously tapped at his phone again, but Keith barely processed any of it for the way his thoughts were helplessly caught on ‘ _he just called you pretty, what the hell, where does he get off calling you that when he’s so gorgeous what the fuck—_ ’ 

It wasn’t until the opening piano notes of ‘Let it Go’ filtered out of the phone’s speakers that Keith shook himself out of it, putting a pin in his mental meltdown to return to at a later time. 

Namely _after_ hearing Lance sing like a Disney princess.

A few patrons turned to watch, their attention caught by the music, and Keith settled in for the show. The few other workers behind the counter were surprisingly unperturbed and went about their work as if nothing at all was happening, much to Keith’s amusement. Hunk, on the other hand, hastily fled to the supply room with a flimsy excuse that no one bothered to acknowledge. 

It only took the first few words for Keith to decide that Lance did have a nice voice; it was smooth and rich, not always quite on key but a pleasant baritone nonetheless, and filled the shop with the same brightness as his laughter. Somehow Keith had expected him to simply sing along like a normal person, but this was _Lance_ after all, and Keith was quickly learning that he never did anything halfway. 

As soon as the lyrics started the barista not only launched into a heartfelt rendition, but he went so far as to act out movements and appropriate facial expressions. Lance caught his eye as the song transitioned into the first chorus, turning so he could look at Keith over his shoulder as he pantomimed unfastening and throwing off a cloak just like the movie. In the musical break that followed Lance met Keith’s gaze, shooting him a cheeky wink that never failed to make Keith’s heart stutter. 

Apparently Lance wanted to make Keith’s heart _stop_ altogether, because, as if his signature wink wasn’t enough, Lance smiled coyly, fluttering his fingers as he blew Keith a kiss. 

Keith felt his cheeks darken again but, rather than being flustered like Lance probably hoped, he was struck by a sudden notion. 

Without missing a beat Keith pretended to catch the kiss, reaching out an arm to snatch it out of the air. He felt a bit silly, especially since in the back of his mind Keith knew that everyone else in the shop was watching them, but managed to hold Lance’s gaze with a teasing smirk of his own. 

The payoff didn’t disappoint. Lance’s eyes widened and he choked as he breathed in to start the next verse, and Keith decided a moment of feeling foolish was so worth it.

Another voice burst into song in Lance’s stead as he struggled to breathe, startling everyone else in the shop.

Keith’s attention fell on a little girl at a corner table with her mother, standing up on her chair and leaning forward against the back of it with a huge grin. She sang along with childish abandon while the mother turned pink in response to the amused chuckles that rose from the other patrons. 

When Keith looked back at him Lance’s smile was as big as the girl’s, even though his song had been thoroughly hijacked, and he held the phone up with a laugh. 

“Sing it, princess!” Lance encouraged, blue eyes sparkling with an almost equal level of childish delight, and while the entire shop became a rapt audience to Little Elsa, Keith couldn’t look away from the sheer happiness pouring off of Lance.

When the song came to a close Keith set his cup on the counter so he could applaud with everyone else. Suddenly shy, the little girl hid behind a curtain of blonde hair as she sat back down, although Keith could see her smile still in force as her mother brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. 

Lance chuckled as the gentle murmur of conversations started up again. “Seems I was upstaged.” 

Keith nodded. “Never thought I’d see someone beat you out for enthusiasm.” 

Lance looked back at the corner table, and Keith quirked a brow at him when he began grabbing ingredients again despite no new orders having come in. “Even I can acknowledge that I don’t stand a chance against such a talented little lady,” he nodded sagely. “I’m charming as hell, yeah, but that? That was just heart-stoppingly adorable.” 

Keith couldn’t exactly argue with any of those statements, so he merely gave a fond shake of his head as he picked his coffee back up, watching curiously as Lance worked. The smell of chocolate and cinnamon wafted from the small cup, strong enough to reach Keith across the counter. 

Instead of putting a lid on the drink when he was done, Keith’s awe returned full force when Lance instead began pouring steamed milk on top with careful precision. His tongue poked between his lips again, but this time Keith was too distracted watching the shape of a flower form in the foam to be caught up in Lance’s adorable habit. 

When it was done Lance gave a satisfied nod and, having realized what he was doing by now, Keith couldn’t bring himself to say anything as Lance carried the cup around to his side of the counter. 

“I’m sure I made a fan out of you with my short performance,” Lance teased, shooting Keith a wink as he walked past, “but if you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I have a very special delivery to make to a very special little lady.” 

An odd feeling swelled inside Keith as he watched Lance approach the corner table where the blonde girl and her mother sat. It was like his heart was growing too big for his body; like it was filling his chest cavity and encroaching into his windpipe, making his breaths shallow and weighed down with _something_ he couldn’t quite name. 

Everything about Lance’s profile was soft, from his smile to the shine in his eyes to the gentle morning light filtering in through Castle of Lions Café’s glass front. The little girl paused mid-sentence when she noticed Lance approaching. Her shoulders hunched inwards and she looked down at her feet as they kicked in idle circles, the glitter on her shoes catching the sun and casting a smatter of rainbows across Lance’s cheeks. 

“Your Majesty,” Lance said as he knelt down to her level, earning an instant giggle that made his smile widen, “I am Lance the Barista, and I come bearing a humble gift.” 

Lowering his head, he presented the cup of hot cocoa, and Keith’s fuzzy thoughts couldn’t shake the image of him kneeling as if he were about to be knighted by a regal queen. 

Both of the table’s occupants gasped, the girl’s features opening into blatant wonder as she reached out and took the cup. Once it had transferred to her hands Lance looked up, immediately offering reassurances to the mother and waving her hands away when the woman reached into her purse. 

“Please, ma’am, I insist.” The statement was paired with the full power of his grin. “Consider it a thank you from all of your loyal subjects for that beautiful performance.” 

The woman hesitated but finally relented, setting her purse on the empty seat next to her again with a grateful smile. 

“What do you say, Laura?” her mother prompted. The girl's brown eyes practically twinkled as she tore her gaze away from the foamy flower. 

“Thank you, mister,” she said, grin widening enough to reveal a gap where one of her teeth was missing. Not a moment later she was looking back down again, dirty blonde hair falling into her face. “It’s so pretty! How’d you do it? Are you magic?” 

Lance laughed, the sound full and true, the force of his smile crinkling his eyes in a way that made Keith’s knees weak. In seconds he launched into a grand tale about infusing all the shop’s drinks with magic that made each one the most delicious thing in the universe, hands gesturing and words weaving easily as second nature. 

From across the shop Keith couldn’t hear well enough to follow completely, and although he wanted to move closer, he was rooted to his spot. Keith watched the scene, cast in the warm, soft haze of early morning, and could do nothing but press his free hand to his chest in a futile attempt to reign in the _feeling_ squirming among his insides and trying its damnedest to explode from him. 

In spite of everything Keith felt the dopey grin on his face turn wry. Damn it, he _had_ ended up swooning over Lance after all. 

Distantly Keith registered Hunk’s return to the drink-making station. Sparing him a glance, Keith saw that he skillfully carried five silver pitchers in each hand, each finger hooked through a different handle. Hunk set them down with a muted clatter, watching Keith the whole time.

Keith swallowed hard, but his voice still came out thick, “Lance is...really good with kids.” 

Hunk hummed an affirmative as he went about lining up the pitchers he’d brought next to the others already by the sink, creating a veritable army of metal cups. With the look Hunk was giving him Keith couldn’t even begin to imagine the level of sap shining through in his smile, but also couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. 

“You should ask him about it,” Hunk suggested a bit too nonchalantly, only shrugging in response to Keith’s questioning look. 

Finally Lance stood and headed back towards the counter, and Keith frantically wrangled his expression into something that didn’t scream ‘I AM IN SO DEEP FOR THIS BOY,’ conveniently taking a long, exaggerated drink of his coffee as Lance crossed onto the worker’s side of the counter. 

“Ohmygod she’s so cute,” Lance gushed, hands clutching at the chest of his apron. “You guys, she made me her official knight in shining armor and dubbed me the guardian of coffee magic. Guys. I am not strong enough for this. _My heart_.” Keith could relate. 

“She definitely did ‘Let it Go’ better than you ever could,” Hunk was quick to tease, enduring Lance hip-checking him in retaliation like an old pro. 

“Whatever, doesn’t matter what you say, nothing can possibly ruin my mood after that. I’ve earned my true sovereign duty and my life is now complete.” 

Hunk chuckled and turned away to station himself at the register when a couple more people walked into the shop. His words echoed in Keith’s mind and he opened his mouth before he could doubt himself.

“You were really good with her,” Keith commented, and Lance’s features softened all over again.

“Yeah,” he breathed out a laugh. “I love kids. Plus I’ve had a lot of practice with them; I have two little siblings, they’re five year old twins and lucky they’re cute. If you think my puppy dog eyes are powerful, theirs will actually melt you into a puddle of lovey, mushy jello. I’ve taken heat for them so many times it’s not even funny.”

Keith delighted in the personal revelation even as his nose crinkled. “What could a couple of five year olds do to get in trouble that you could take the blame for? I really hope you’re mature enough not to color on any walls.”

“You don’t have siblings, do you?” Lance guessed instantly. Keith shook his head and Lance made a face. “Oh, _you don’t even know_. There was the time they climbed up onto the counter and knocked all the plates out of the dish drainer. Or when they dumped an entire bottle of bubble soap in the tub and literally _filled_ the whole downstairs bathroom with bubbles. Or when they got ahold of a tube of Mamá’s lipstick and tried to color my hair red while I was napping.”

Keith nearly snorted his next drink of coffee. He had to thump a hand on his chest a few times to keep from choking. Lance’s shit-eating grin did nothing to help him catch his breath. “What the fuck?”

“What’s the matter, you got something against redheads?” 

The question was innocent enough, and paired with Lance’s eyebrow waggle Keith could tell he was trying to play it off, but there was something innately curious about the barista’s tone. Those blue eyes were expectant, and Keith realized that it was at least a semi-serious inquiry as to Keith’s type. 

He took another drink as he made a show of considering, internally debating what he should say. 

Yeah, Keith had gone into whatever this was between them with the mentality that it was better than rejection. But with each passing day, he felt a lightness building in his gut, a bright bundle of a feeling he hadn’t let himself experience in a long time: hope. 

Keith knew he wanted more than the playful rapport they’d built, and he had never been the type to shy away from what he wanted. Assuming he didn’t make an ass of himself this could be his chance to show his genuine interest beyond their usual banter. 

Lance, though, was apparently too impatient to wait for an answer. “Wait, lemme guess: you’re into the Hot Topic chic type girl. Full body tattoos, facial piercings for days?” 

Keith’s brows disappeared into his hairline. “Wha— _why_ would you think that?”

“Figured you’d want someone that matches the dark and mysterious aesthetic,” Lance shrugged, a bit too nonchalant to be believable, and Keith decided to take pity on him before he could throw out any more ridiculous guesses. 

“Yeah, no.” Keith looked down to watch the liquid swish in his cup as he swirled it absently. This certainly was not a conversation he’d expected to have today. “I guess I don’t really have a type. Not that I’ve ever thought about,” he admitted. 

“Oh c’mon, you gotta give me _something!_ ” 

Raising his gaze proved to be a fatal mistake when Keith found himself face-to-face with Lance’s full power puppy dog eyes. His heart did an involuntarily somersault. 

Well, his thought had definitely been right before: he _would_ do anything under that look. Immediately Keith decided that he could never meet Lance’s little siblings; if their pouty eyes were _more_ powerful than this? He’d be straight up fucked.

Keith rolled his eyes as if it would do anything to cover up how much of a slave he was to those glimmering blues. “Something, huh?” His gaze idly wandered behind the counter as he thought, before a corner of his lips pulled up in a smirk. “Just the ‘girl’ in that suggestion was enough to be a no.” 

A crooked smile took up residence on Lance’s face. “That’s...not exactly what I meant, but, uh...Good, that’s...good.” 

Shooting him an exasperated look, Keith pretended not to notice the relief in his tone. “Then what?”

“You know,” Lance hedged, one hand waving through the air as if his sweeping gestures clarified anything at all. When Keith continued to stare at him he made a frustrated sound. “What _type_ of guy do you like then? Blonde? Brunette? Tall? Short and stocky? Big buff Cheeto puff? Are you a legs guy? No, wait, a butt guy? Your anaconda don’t want none unless he got buns, hon?” 

That last one was announced _far_ too loudly for their current, very public setting, but Lance showed no inkling of shame. “Gimme something to work with.”

Keith tried to reign in his chuckling, but it was a hopeless effort. “You planning on dyeing your hair if I say I like blondes?”

Lance gaped dramatically at him, feigning offense with a hand pressed to his chest. “What kinda guy do you take me for, Mullet? I would never change myself to please a man—even a stupidly hot one like yourself.”

“That’s what I like.” 

The response slipped out before Keith really even thought about it, but as soon as it left his lips he knew it was true. Lance blinked at him, surprised yet genuinely intrigued, and Keith dropped his eyes to the counter, suddenly fascinated by the latticework of faint scratches across its surface.

“I guess...I just want someone real. Someone who’s not afraid to be who they are and wouldn’t want me to be anyone but who I am...even though I’m a pain in the ass.” 

The beginnings of a scowl soured his expression, but his embarrassment tempered its acidity. His confidence abandoning him was a physical sensation; he felt it trickle away to make room for doubt, for all the parts of himself that he hated. 

Words bubbled to his lips and he had no control over how they tumbled out, grumbled and bitter. “I’m _told_ I’m impulsive, and hot-headed, and stubborn. I suck at feelings and talking and all that shit. I...always find a way to fuck up everything good in my life.”

_God_ what the fuck was he _saying?_ His shoulders hunched and his ears burned, drawing his coffee close to his chest as if it could shield him from the intense look that Lance was giving him. But he was in too deep to stop now. 

Keith cleared his throat and plowed through to the light at the end of the dark, abysmal tunnel he’d gotten himself into, hoping and praying he hadn’t just done exactly what he’d said he always did and royally fucked any chance in hell he might have had with Lance. 

“Anyway. I just want someone who can see past the bad shit. Who sticks around instead. Who...” Keith hesitated for a long moment, staring a hole into his own shoes and forcing himself not to fidget. 

“Someone who...cares anyway.”

When he finally clamped his mouth shut, Keith was all too aware of the heavy silence that descended between them. This time his expression darkened fully, some of the self-hatred from his tirade leaking into the fierce pinch of his brow. 

Jesus, how fucking stupid could he be? Blabbing all that deep emotional shit to someone he was just casually flirting with? What the actual fuck was wrong with him? In literally any other instance Keith would do anything to avoid sharing his feelings, but another thing Keith was quickly learning was that he didn’t exactly act rationally around Lance. 

Damn Lance and his puppy dog eyes, and his kissable pouty lips, and his goddamn charm that made him so easy to talk to. Only the memory of a few days prior prevented Keith’s grip from crushing his mostly empty drink into dust. 

After another few moments the stillness became physically impossible to bear. Keith drew in a long, painful breath, blowing it out his nose. There was no avoiding it. Steeling himself, he raised his gaze, heart sinking down towards his shoes for every inch that his eyes lifted.

He expected discomfort. Tension. Maybe even revulsion. Keith prepared himself to see the worst possible outcome in those blue eyes in the futile hope that expecting it would prevent the blow from destroying him completely. 

But, when he finally did meet Lance’s eyes, there was none of that, and what he saw instead destroyed him even more.

Lance stared at Keith with eyes deeper than the ocean. They were wide, two thrown-open windows straight into Lance’s every thought and feeling. The blue of his irises rippled with such unbridled affection that Keith felt all the air leave him in a rush, taking all his conscious thought with it. Keith’s mind and body both froze, stiff with the fear that the empathy in Lance’s expression was an illusion that would crumble away were he to so much as blink. 

Slowly, his eyes never leaving Keith, Lance raised a hand in the air like an elementary schooler with a question for the teacher. Keith didn’t trust himself to speak, so he merely gave a terse nod, more a jerk of his head than anything. 

Lance’s throat worked for a solid five seconds before speaking. “Okay, so, I was kinda-sorta half joking when I asked? But like. Dude. That was fucking perfect. _You_ are perfect. I expected a couple adjectives? Or, you know, any of the other stereotypical shit people say when you ask what their type is? But _that_ was...” 

Lance’s raised hand dropped to tug through his hair, adorably flustered. “I guess what I’m trying to say is...thank you. I appreciate you telling me. I’m...glad that you felt like you could. 

“But also!” Lance thrust an abrupt finger towards Keith’s chest, who simply stared down at it, brain struggling to keep up with the fountain of sincerity spouting from Lance’s mouth. 

“A caveat to that because _someone_ has to lay down some ground rules before you actually kill me: holy crow, dude, _warn_ a guy before you get all real and poetic and shit, okay? My heart was already weak after Her Majesty’s show.” Lance gestured to the corner of the shop, where Laura was spinning and chattering happily while her mother tidied up their table. “I may be devilishly charming on the surface but I’m secretly a giant, mushy romantic, so—so if you’re gonna say _that kind_ of shit, at least let me sit down first or something.”

By the time Lance stopped to take a breath, Keith was thunderstruck. He...had no idea how to process all that. As a result he simply stood there, gaping dumbly. It took a ridiculously long time for Keith to catch up to the situation, and when he did his jaw shut with an audible click. 

He hadn’t ruined everything. Like the socially awkward idiot he was, Keith had laid all the worst parts of him out to bear, and Lance had _thanked him for it_. He _wanted_ to hear it. A bundle of emotion lodged in Keith’s throat, and he forced it down before the accompanying burn could take root behind his eyes. 

“You’re...welcome?” Keith finally managed, still reeling. At this point he had no idea what his facial expression was doing. Hopefully he didn’t look as overwhelmed as he felt. 

Offering a nod, a small smile played at Lance’s lips. For a few moments they continued to stare at each other with varying amounts of awe, but then he piped up again, “One follow-up question?” 

“What?”

“Can I ask one more type-related question? Your heartfelt spiel didn’t address a very important piece of information.”

Keith blinked, suspicion chasing away his lingering embarrassment. Lance stared at him expectantly until Keith rolled his eyes, letting out a huff.

“Fine.” 

The single word made Lance’s eyes light up like twin fireworks. The barista leaned forward with his hands planted on the counter between them, grin promising mischief. 

“You have to answer honestly, inquiring minds absolutely _have_ to know.” 

At this point Keith knew he couldn’t deny Lance, so he merely quirked an expectant brow. Surely nothing could be worse than the deep dark feelings he’d just spewed everywhere.

Of course, because the universe loved to make Keith’s life difficult, Lance leaned even closer, eyes half hooded and gleaming in the overhead lights of the shop, and whispered in the most ridiculous, over-the-top to the point of not being sexy at all Sexy Voice, “Top or bottom?”

Keith very well may have stopped breathing from how hard he choked. He covered his mouth as he hacked up a lung, and he knew his entire face was red. 

“ _Lance!_ ” Furtively Keith’s gaze flicked to where little Laura and her mother had been sitting, but their table was mercifully empty. He must have missed them leaving. 

Yet again, Lance had zero shame. “What? It’s a legitimate question!” he defended.

His grin stretched even wider, and suddenly Keith had an incredibly difficult time tearing his attention away from the inviting curve of Lance’s lips. His eyes flicked down before Keith could stop himself, and though he immediately jerked his gaze back up to Lance’s eyes, the barista _definitely_ noticed.

Lance chuckled lowly, his voice sliding up Keith’s spine and _fucking hell_ he _wanted_ to have this conversation. Preferably at his apartment. In his bedroom. In his bed with Lance flushed and panting beneath him as he drew every possible sound from those sinful lips—

Keith cut that thought off before it could go any further with a sharp bite to the inside of his cheek. At the very least, Keith wanted to have this conversation somewhere they could be _alone_. 

Too bad this was Castle of Lions Café, a.k.a. _none of those things_. 

Keith tried to open his mouth to say as much, but couldn’t find his voice to do so. Deep down he knew it wouldn’t matter anyway; public decency wouldn’t stop Lance. That fact was evidenced by how Lance continued to watch Keith expectantly, head cushioned delicately in the pillow of his long fingers, wearing a look that was barely short of bedroom eyes. 

All the heat in Keith’s body rushed straight between his legs. Keith closed his eyes and simultaneously regretted and rejoiced the fact that he’d gotten up that morning. 

Alright. Lance wanted to play this game? Keith would never back down from a challenge. Keeping his eyes closed, Keith slowly counted to ten, concentrating on schooling his features. 

Upon opening his eyes, a cocky smirk—not unlike Lance’s—took up confident residence on Keith’s features and he moved forward. He quietly relished in the way Lance’s eyes widened a fraction when he settled in to lean against the counter opposite him. The air between them sparked like live wires.

Still mindful of their very public setting, Keith kept a couple inches between them, but not enough to change how his entire field of view was suddenly filled with _Lance Lance Lance_. 

Lance’s eyes, color darkened deliciously and tracking Keith’s every move. Lance’s brown skin, flawless and smooth over defined cheekbones and a cute upturned nose. Lance’s work-mussed hair, hanging in his face and curling around the shells of his ears. 

“Guess.”

That threw Lance for a loop, if the way he visibly gulped was any indication. It helped Keith’s own embarrassment lessen, and he smirked. 

Lance recovered quickly and gave him a slow, obvious once-over. Their breaths mingled in the too-distant space between their lips, and their hunched shoulders created a barrier between the two of them and everyone else in the shop.

The intimate quiet between them stretched long enough that Keith raised a questioning brow. Lance’s cheeks were flushed pink, and his previously sultry expression now looked as if he was currently trying to restart his brain. Keith mentally patted himself on the back. 

“So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Keith asked, having no fucking idea where this sudden confidence was coming from but not daring to question it. Keith was always sure in his decisions, but flirting and feelings were the two things in life that he couldn’t seem to wrangle. 

But, then again, this was Lance. 

Lance had always been different. 

The comment snapped Lance out of whatever gutter his thoughts had been trapped in and a grin that mirrored Keith’s appeared in an instant. 

“Oh, I can take it. In more ways than one.” Just to be obnoxious he added a wink. “And something tells me you can definitely dish it out.” Lance nodded as he finally came to a decision. “Top.” 

“That your final answer?”

“Yup.”

Keith gave a noncommittal hum. “I _could_ tell you...” he trailed off, letting the words dangle for the sheer pleasure of watching Lance hang on the edge, “but I think I’ll let you use your imagination. I’ve heard the names you’ve come up with, so I know you’re pretty good at that.”

“That’s...” Lance’s words devolved into a wheeze, and he cleared his throat. “That’s not very nice. You sure you wanna do that? You’re basically giving me permission here, dude.” 

“If I had a problem with that I wouldn’t have said it.” 

Lance raised his hands. “Fair enough, just making sure.”

Their words tapered off, but Keith didn’t feel compelled to move, and apparently Lance didn’t either. The barista’s arms lowered back to the counter and he settled in once again.

It could’ve been minutes or hours that they stayed there, leaned against opposite sides of the pick-up counter, heads bent close together and elbows brushing. Keith’s eyes wandered the planes of Lance’s face, the swoops of the small curls in his hair, the Milky Way of freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

Ever so slowly the heat beneath Keith’s skin ebbed, and he found himself just gazing at Lance. Watching Lance watch him. It wasn’t often Keith saw Lance so...peaceful; he fully intended to enjoy the private intimacy that those hot sparks had left behind.

Lance’s coworkers bustled about behind him as they served a steady trickle of customers, but no one bothered them. Maybe Lance had said something to them about slacking off when Keith came in. Maybe they could see the adoration buried in the gray of Keith’s eyes and took pity on him. Frankly he didn’t care. In that moment, he felt completely at peace. 

No words needed to be said. It was just Lance, and Keith, and that _fluttering-squirming_ feeling building and building in Keith’s chest. 

Keith blamed that feeling when his free hand reached out of its own accord, fingers gently curling around Lance’s arm just above where his elbow rested on the table. Lance startled at the contact, and his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, but he didn’t pull away. Keith’s thumb stroked small circles into the sliver of exposed skin between Lance’s elbow and the hem of his pushed up sleeves, electricity pulsing beneath his fingers. 

He’d be happy staying there forever, but as much as he wanted it to last, their respective jobs beckoned them apart soon enough. A gaggle of customers entered the shop and Lance sighed. 

“Guess I should get back to work.” His voice was barely above a whisper, meant only for the two of them in their little pocket of warmth. He made no indication of moving. 

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, also not moving and not stopping the mindless motion of his thumb, “Yeah, I should probably go.”

“You gonna get in trouble if you’re late?”

Keith hummed an affirmative, and there was a weighted pause. 

Lance held his gaze, brows slowly creeping up towards his hairline. “You’re still not leaving.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

The softness of Lance’s features gave way to the full force of his smile. He laughed and Keith felt like he’d just been given a priceless treasure. “As sweet as that is, you really shouldn’t get in trouble for me.” 

Keith smiled back. “My statement still stands.” 

More so than ever before, Keith didn’t want to leave. The spell that had come over them was a fragile, fickle thing. If it shattered now who knew when they would get it back? 

Almost more dreadful was the simple fact that it was Friday. When Keith stepped out of the shop, he would have to get through two days of not seeing Lance. To anyone not so hopelessly smitten, two days would’ve been a piece of cake. But, alas, Keith was steadily drowning in the ocean that was Lance McClain. 

Wednesday had been hard enough. Going two full days without Lance’s smile would be like going two days without sunlight: he would survive it, but it would be cold and miserable. 

A sudden warmth encased his hand and snapped Keith out of his self-pity. That warmth was mirrored in his face when he looked down to see Lance’s opposite hand covering the one that Keith had on his arm. Lance gave a gentle squeeze and Keith’s heart constricted in kind. 

How could such an innocent touch have such an affect on him? Looking up, Keith searched Lance’s eyes and saw a glimmer of understanding among swirls of blue. Knowing that Lance shared his hesitation made Keith feel a bit better about his inevitable departure. 

With a final drag of fingertips along Keith’s knuckles, Lance physically shook himself as he pushed off the counter. The motion pulled him out of Keith’s reach, and he missed the contact with immediate, startling intensity. 

“Alright, get outta here!” Lance’s voice raised in pitch in his mock fury, and he made playful shooing motions towards the door. His body pivoted towards the register, but his attention remained firmly on Keith. 

“See you Monday?” 

The note of giddy hope in Lance’s voice did funny things to Keith’s pulse. The smile he gave was as good as a promise. 

“Yeah. See you Monday, Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A summary of my Lance headcanons that are mentioned in this chapter:  
> \- He listens to a startling amount of both Taylor Swift and Nicki Minaj.  
> \- Lance is the middle sibling of five kids. Idk why but I adore the idea of his two younger siblings being twins, one boy and one girl. His older siblings are also a boy and a girl.  
> \- He loves Disney movies from watching them all the time with his little sibs and knows all the words to every princess song.  
> \- He's a big, soft, dorky romantic and loves doing sappy, cliché shit for his significant others, like giving them flowers and all that jazz. He never expects other people to do that sort of thing for _him_ , but if they do he literally _melts_. 
> 
> I also don't have a set headcanon for who usually tops or bottoms, since I enjoy both and can genuinely see it either way?? So I thought I'd let y'all decide what you wanna imagine for the boys in this one, haha. ;D
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	6. The Great Sheith Shook-ening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro tags along and everyone is a hypocrite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, okay, first of all I have to say: thank you so _so_ much to every single one of you for reading this fic! We're only halfway through and it's already gotten such a wonderful reception, and I couldn't be more thrilled! ;w; I'm so glad you're all enjoying these dorky, love-sick boys. An extra special thank you to all of you who have taken the time to leave kudos or comments! I literally get this big sappy smile every damn time, like it makes me so happy, you guys don't even know. I've genuinely gotten teary-eyed at some of your comments you guys are the actual best  <3
> 
> We are indeed halfway through this thing! I hope you all are ready for Week Two of Keith and Lance's coffee shop pining, haha. xD My beta's Voltron OTP is Sheith, so a particular part of this chapter is a shout out to her. Klance is obviously my favorite, but I'm down with basically all Voltron ships (SHIP ALL THE THINGS), so I couldn't resist poking a little fun at her, haha. You'll know the part when you see it. ;D
> 
> One final note: 
> 
> (breathes in)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _HOLY FUCK SEASON FUCKING SEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (breaths out) 
> 
> 8'D

“Shiro! Don’t—what the fuck, don’t do that! _Shiro!_ ”

Keith’s pleas fell on deaf ears and he watched, mortified and bewildered, as his best friend pressed his face against the huge glass window that made up the front of Castle of Lions Café. His hands came up to cup around his eyes and Keith knew that he was scrutinizing every face in the shop.

After Friday morning Keith had been so full with that goddamn _fluttering-squirming_ feeling that, during his usual shitty movie marathon with Shiro that night, he’d let slip his crush and spent the entire rest of the weekend desperately trying to convince Shiro to stay away from the shop. 

Refusal had devolved to bargaining, which had devolved to begging, and finally threatening. Unfortunately Shiro had long since built up an immunity to Keith’s patented Withering Glares, and Keith’s threats were cancelled out by equal blackmail material on both ends. In the end he’d had no choice but to let Shiro tag along with him on his pre-work trip come Monday. 

Keith groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was torn between tackling Shiro away from the window before he was caught and not wanting to make a bigger commotion that might draw Lance’s attention. 

“Why. Why did I let you come with me.”

“I think I see him. Tall and brunette, right?”

“Great, you’ve seen him, time to go!”

Keith grabbed Shiro’s arm and made a cursory attempt at dragging him away from the window. As much as he hated the thought of missing chatting with Lance this morning, his entire being physically rejected the thought of Shiro meeting him even more. 

Shiro was probably the only person in the world who Keith felt truly comfortable with, and as a result all of his dumb fucking feelings had burst out like water from behind a shattered dam once he’d gotten started. Thankfully Shiro wasn’t in any way a malicious person; Keith knew that he wouldn’t share anything that Keith didn’t want him to, but he _also_ knew that with how much he’d gushed, Shiro would have to be an idiot to not figure out how far gone Keith was for this beautiful, ridiculous boy. 

Suffice it to say that Keith was nowhere near ready for the two most important people in his life to meet. So much so that he didn’t even have the mental capacity to marvel at when the fuck _the hot barista_ had become one of the most important people in his life. 

But that wasn’t all Lance was, not anymore. He was still unfairly attractive, of course, but Keith actually knew things about him now. 

Keith knew that even though Lance played at being suave and confident, he was actually a huge, adorable dork. He knew that Lance was ridiculously dramatic and never did anything halfway. He knew that Lance had younger siblings and was incredibly good with children. He knew that Lance was on the swim team and was possibly part mermaid. He knew that Lance could sing. He knew that Lance’s eyes held every shade of blue that made up the ocean.

In such a short time Keith had learned so much. But for every piece and little tidbit that Lance showed him, Keith wanted to see so much more. 

Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, Shiro didn’t budge. Instead he leveled Keith with a very deliberate look: both brows raising, the whisper of a smirk tugging one side of his mouth, a stubborn gleam in his eye. 

Keith knew that look. Keith hated that look. That was Shiro’s ‘no fucking way’ look. 

“It’s a public coffee shop. You can’t stop me from going in.”

Keith pulled at him a few more times, unwilling to admit defeat, but was eventually forced to release his friend’s prosthetic limb with a huff. He put on his best intimidating face and crossed his arms, glaring at Shiro through the fringe of black hair that had fallen in his face during his struggle. 

“I am not above tackling you.”

Shiro’s lips trembled with his effort not to smile. “And you were worried about me making a scene?” 

“That—” 

Keith cut off. Fuck, that was actually a valid point. 

“Can’t you just _not?_ Go to work, or the gym, or _anywhere_ but here!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Shiro said plainly, as if it was as much a solid fact as the sky being blue. That ghost of a smirk stayed in place as he mirrored Keith’s posture with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He planted his feet and it was obvious that he was willing to stand outside Castle of Lions Café all day if that’s what it would take to make Keith relent. “The sooner you accept that the easier this will be.”

They stared each other down. Not even the drone of the city could penetrate the tense silence that descended between them. Shiro was the picture of patience and ease, holding Keith’s glare with his own half amused and half exasperated. 

Keith, on the other hand, was all coiled muscles and defensive posture, his body defaulting into every defense mechanism it knew. Yes, he was frustrated. Yes, he dreaded Shiro’s inevitable, albeit well meaning, teasing if he was allowed to actually meet Lance. Keith had already heard so much of it over the course of the weekend that enduring any more had about a fifty-fifty shot of _actually_ killing him. 

But really, Keith’s anger was a front to disguise the horrible, anxious twisting in his stomach. He felt full to bursting again, but it was a different feeling this time, one that weighed heavily like a brick in his gut.

All at once it was too much. It felt serious, all of a sudden, like Shiro’s presence at Castle of Lions Café for the sole purpose of meeting Lance was a huge step that neither Keith nor Lance had agreed to take. It felt like taking a significant other home to meet the family—it basically _was_ , since Shiro was the closest person to family that Keith had. And it was just _too much_. 

The past week of real, meaningful interaction with Lance had been one of the best of Keith’s life. Maybe that made him pathetic, but the truth was what it was. 

But the world loved to fuck up Keith’s happiness; with his luck, meeting his best friend would be too big a step. What if it weirded Lance out? Pushed him away? They weren’t even technically a thing! All they did was flirt in passing in a coffee shop. What business did Keith have introducing Lance to his best friend? 

Okay, yeah, Keith knew Lance’s best friend, but Hunk worked at the shop, too! It was different!

Keith always prepared for the worst. He’d been kicked while he was down one too many times in his life to do otherwise. But if, on the off chance, meeting Shiro _was_ too much...Keith didn’t know what he would do. He couldn’t imagine going back to slogging through his morning routine, bleary-eyed and hating the world. 

Despite Keith’s efforts to uphold his fierce glare, some of that must have shown on his face. Shiro’s playfulness softened, and instead he regarded Keith with that open, gentle expression that always made Keith grateful to have a friend who was willing to put up with his bullshit.

“I can tell you really like him,” Shiro started, and Keith looked away from the soft mirth in his tone. “I promise, I just want to meet him. You’ve never talked about someone like that before, you can’t blame me for being curious. I’m not going to embarrass you. Too much,” he added as a full grin came forward. “I’ll save the embarrassing stories for when you’re actually dating.” 

“You mean if,” Keith grumbled, hating how Shiro always seemed to know how to break through the walls he had up. Shiro just shook his head. 

“No, I mean when. Positivity is a virtue, Keith. Much like patience.” He stepped closer and nudged Keith’s shoulder with his own. “You could at least _pretend_ to have any amount of either of them.”

Keith grumbled protests still, but it was half-hearted at best. The entire situation made him infuriatingly uncomfortable, but beneath all his stubbornness he knew there was nothing he could do. Plus...

He really hoped Shiro liked Lance. Not that he would ever admit it, but Keith valued Shiro’s opinion. The other man was an excellent judge of character, sometimes to a truly frightening degree. 

At this point, all he could do was keep his shit together and hope they got along. 

“Fine,” Keith huffed. Determined to stay mad, he jabbed a finger into Shiro’s chest. “But if you fuck up and say my name, I _will_ kill you.” For good measure he leveled the taller man with one of his best glares, the one that said ‘and they will _never ever_ find your body.’

Shiro just laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to mess up your...strange method of flirting. And don’t look at me like that, you _know_ this thing between you right now isn’t exactly orthodox.”

“ _Shut up_ , I regret this already. You suck at flirting, too.” 

“Alright, I’ll give you that one. Good thing I’m not the one trying to woo the cute coffee shop worker.” Skirting around him, Shiro breezed past and opened the shop door with a fond shake of his head. Keith followed a few begrudging steps behind. “Come on, time to face the music.”

The pair entered to find that a sizable line had accumulated while they’d lingered outside. Wordlessly Keith pulled Shiro off to the side, ignoring his friend’s questioning look.

“Shouldn’t we get in line for coffee?”

“And have more people than necessary witness the disaster of this meeting? Don’t think so, old man.”

Shiro barked out a laugh, the sound ringing loud in the drone of the coffee shop. “Old man? Really?”

“You literally just said that I was ‘wooing’ Lance and it made you sound old as shit.”

Shiro made an offended sound but otherwise didn’t answer, and Keith took that as an invitation to avoid the amused gaze he could feel burning into the top of his head. 

Like always, Keith’s eyes sought out Lance. The barista was busy ringing up the queue of customers, allowing Keith to watch him unabashed as he chatted easily with every new person to step up to the register. He wore a yellow shirt beneath his uniform apron today, the color sunny as his smile and standing out beautifully against his skin. 

Shiro hummed, the sound poking at Keith’s distracted thoughts like a pebble in his shoe. “I’ve changed my mind: I think I’ll embarrass you a lot.” 

_That_ certainly caught his attention. Keith’s jaw fell open and he whipped around to face him, glaring daggers at his steady profile. “I swear, Shiro, you—”

It only took a few seconds of enraged shouting for Keith to realize that Shiro was grinning at him—and to promptly feel like an idiot. At least Shiro’s chuckling gave him a new excuse to keep yelling at him as they waited for the line to dwindle.

Keith’s one-sided shouting match eventually drew Lance’s attention from behind the cash register. Keith _felt_ it like a sixth sense, falling quiet and turning back towards the counter as his every thought exploded into cacophonous sound. The warmth that rushed through his chest when their eyes met was frankly a little ridiculous, and he swallowed hard, raising a hand to offer an awkward wave. 

Lance’s answering grin stretched from one corner of his mouth to the other, unfurling across his face like a sail in strong wind. Instead of a wave Lance shot him finger guns, his smile somehow widening even further when Keith snorted. 

“So...he’s pretty cute.”

Shiro spoke into Keith’s ear, and he shot him a side-long look. 

“What?”

“I said,” Shiro went on with easily feigned nonchalance, “that he’s cute. That is Lance, right? I can see how he’s your type.” 

Surely having this much blood rush to your cheeks couldn’t be healthy. He knew he must be bright red, but considering the knowing look that Shiro was giving him, Keith had _much bigger_ problems. 

Keith’s jaw worked for a solid ten seconds before he whacked Shiro on the arm. “I hate you.”

“Hey!” Shiro laughed, ducking away and holding up a placating hand. “I mean it!”

“Yeah, well, get your own ‘pretty cute’ barista. And stop _smiling_ like that, could you _be_ more embarrassing?”

Shiro had the nerve to look perfectly innocent even as he continued to wear the most over-the-top grin Keith had ever seen. “Like what?”

For the second time that morning Keith slapped his hands to his face and groaned. “I can’t look at you right now.”

“Oh, come on,” Shiro said as he clapped a hand on Keith’s shoulder. He used his grip to shake Keith until the shorter boy peeked out from behind his fingers to glare. “That’s nothing compared to the look you had when you—”

“You better _fucking shut up_ —”

“—told me all about him and your coffee dates—”

“They are not _dates_ oh my god, Shiro—”

“—and how it’s _so_ unfair that he can look _so_ good so early in the morning—”

With a wordless shout Keith whipped out a hand to try and cover Shiro’s mouth, uncaring that the few tables sitting near them were staring because _that needed to be stopped immediately social conventions be damned_. But Shiro was too fast even for Keith, and he sidestepped the move easily. 

“I know where you sleep,” Keith informed him, tone dangerously calm.

Shiro smirked. “I know where you hide your stuffed hippo.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed into slits. “...I hate you.”

Shiro’s grin oozed quiet victory. “The more you say that the more inclined I am to share all of your embarrassing stories.”

Utterly defeated, Keith threw up his arms and turned away, knowing that Shiro was all talk and therefore not feeling the need—and quite honestly unable to _handle_ —arguing with him further. Instead Keith’s gaze returned to Lance as if drawn in by a magnetic pull, but his expression dropped as soon as he looked back towards the counter. 

Lance’s bright smile had turned strained. It was frozen on his face, fraying in the corners and not quite reaching his eyes. Keith was completely caught off guard by the sudden, intense surge of concern that gripped his heart like a vice. His thick brows furrowed, all his previous lightheartedness evaporating in an instant. 

He tried to catch Lance’s gaze, to silently ask if something was wrong, but Lance jerked his attention back to the customer in front of him so quickly that, had he not caught how the brightness in those blues dulled, Keith would’ve been hurt. 

He felt Shiro shift closer to him. His voice too was lacking all previous mirth, now soft and concerned. “Is he okay?”

“I—” Suddenly Keith’s throat was a desert. He swallowed once, twice, wrestling with the odd discontentment that writhed in his chest at the realization that he had no idea what could be wrong. “I don’t know.”

Two pairs of eyes never left Lance as he worked his way through the line of customers. Shiro observed quietly while Keith was practically deafened by his heart pounding in his ears. The barista’s conversations were markedly short; even without hearing what he said, it was obvious that Lance’s usual happy rambling was nowhere to be found. All the while he wore a smile that was far too tight and pulled unnaturally at his lips. 

Keith hadn’t seen Lance since last week. Had something happened over the weekend? But Lance had seemed fine when they’d first walked in. Sparing a brief glance around the shop, Keith didn’t see anything that could’ve made Lance deflate like that. He had the fleeting thought to ask Hunk, but the big guy was nowhere in sight. 

Finally the last customer in line stepped up to order, and, with a steeling breath, Keith approached the counter. The customer moved aside and Keith stepped up in their stead, vaguely aware of Shiro at his heels. It took a long moment for Lance to look up from the register keyboard and meet his eyes. The distance of the countertop between them felt like miles. 

“Well, a merry Monday morning, Mullet!” Lance greeted with too much enthusiasm. His smile sat crookedly on his face, and Keith felt off-balance with it.

“Hey,” he said lamely. “Busy morning?”

Lance shrugged a shoulder. A hand rested on his hip in an attempt at casual, but Keith could see the tension in his shoulders. “I guess, but, ya’ know. It’s fine. Comes with the job, after all.”

“...Right.”

For the first time their conversation was stilted, awkward. Every word just made Keith more and more sure that something was wrong. 

He licked his lips, all too aware of Shiro standing just behind him and watching everything. Keith hadn’t lied before: he was absolute shit when it came to talking about feelings. He had all the social graces of a wet paper towel, and barely much more empathy. But if Lance was upset, if there was something Keith could _do_ , he desperately wanted to. 

He’d do anything to bring Lance’s smile back. 

With that thought in mind, Keith forged ahead. No use beating around the bush. He leveled Lance with a searching look. 

“Are you okay?”

The barista blinked at him for a long moment, and then, alarmingly, Lance laughed, the sound more a harsh scoff than his usual boisterous, whole-body laughter. 

“Pshh, who, me? Yeah man, never better!” His fingers toyed with the buttons on the register, but it was his eyes that gave him away. Their color had darkened, deep like a storm on the sea, and looked anywhere but at Keith. “Just living the Castle of Lions Café dream. Guess I’m just a little tired this morning.”

It wasn’t even a convincing lie, and was delivered with no attempt to make it as such. Keith said nothing, watching Lance closely as the barista rocked on his heels. His index finger picked at the raised letter ‘B’ on the register’s keyboard.

“But, uh,” Lance piped up again, small and hesitant, “for the record, it’s better. Now that—um, well, now that...you’re...here...”

Keith’s eyes widened, his inkling of hurt forgotten in the laborious process his brain had to go through to comprehend the unexpected sweetness of that statement. 

“Oh,” was all he managed between owlish blinks. “I’m glad.” 

Shaking out of it, Keith forced himself to focus, peering into Lance’s eyes earnestly. If it was for Lance, he’d happily listen to sappy feelings talk until the end of time. “Are you sure? If you wanted to, uh, _talk_ , I— _we_ , could.” 

Finally Lance really looked at him. A glimmer of surprise lit in his eyes, banishing a bit of the darkness, and after a long moment, his expression softened.

“Seriously, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Keith tried to feel reassured by the smile Lance gave; it was better than the last, and seemed mostly sincere, but its brightness still fell short. 

Lance, though, was apparently ready to move on. “So, you gonna introduce me?”

Keith stared blankly and Lance gestured at Shiro. Oh, right. Keith had totally forgotten he was standing there. 

“...Yeah.”

Keith knew everything was _not_ fine, but if Lance didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push. He swallowed around the hurt creeping up the back of his throat. Lance was at work, he reasoned with himself. Of course he didn’t want to talk. 

Who said it had anything to do with who was offering to listen? 

Wiping the dismay from his features, Keith took advantage of the opportunity to look away and turn his eyes to Shiro as he waved a hand at his friend. “Shiro, Lance. Lance, Shiro.”

For reasons Keith couldn’t even guess, Shiro’s expression was neither Lance’s strained nonchalance nor Keith’s barely concealed concern: his eyes twinkled with amusement, of all things, and though his lips were pressed together in an attempt to hide it, Keith could see how they trembled in his efforts to hold back a smile. What the fuck? Keith stared suspiciously at the side of Shiro’s head as he stepped forward.

“Hi, I’m Shiro,” the man in question repeated for himself as he extended his prosthetic hand, and suddenly Keith’s entire focus was on Lance. 

For a moment Lance’s eyes widened in surprise, flicking between Shiro’s face and fingers so quickly it wouldn’t have been noticeable if Keith hadn’t been scrutinizing his every move. An entirely new kind of apprehension soured Keith’s stomach. 

The stillness that followed couldn’t have been more than two seconds, but they dragged on for what felt like lifetimes. Keith held his breath as Lance looked at Shiro for a moment longer...

Then took his hand as a small smile surfaced. Keith had never seen Lance look that way before. There was uncertainty in the blue of his eyes, along with something sad and tentative that Keith couldn’t quite place. 

Every taught nerve in his body unwound as Lance gave a confident shake of Shiro’s hand and greeted him with a simple “hey.” Lance’s previously guarded expression had opened a bit, though it was still nowhere near what Keith was used to, but at least it was an improvement from before. 

There was half a moment of silence before Shiro tacked on, “Also known as this guy’s best friend.” 

Somehow Keith refrained from kicking him at his repetition of Hunk’s phrasing from a few days prior. At least Hunk wasn’t around to hear it; the last thing Keith needed right now was for anyone to figure out that Keith had spilled literally everything from last week. 

Lance looked between them slowly. His face did something complicated, a dozen emotions passing through his eyes so quickly that Keith couldn’t latch onto a single one. 

“Best friends, huh?” Lance asked, tone strangely...hopeful? Was that the right word? Keith couldn’t imagine why. “So, uh, you guys have known each other for a long time then?” 

Shiro’s smile was almost too easy, and combined with the glint in his eye, Keith got the distinct impression that he was missing something. What the hell was going on?

“Yeah. K—uh, _he_ ,” Shiro caught himself, nudging Keith’s side pointedly, “is pretty much family. The little brother I never had.” 

Shiro retracted his hand from Lance’s and reached towards him instead, and for a horrifying second Keith was sure that Shiro was about to try to _ruffle his hair in front of his big fat crush_ and that was _absolutely un-fucking-acceptable_. His entire body braced to dodge the move and he glared at his best friend with an intensity that said ‘I will break into your house and murder you in your sleep tonight.’ Thankfully Shiro relented without a fight, crossing his arms lightly over his chest.

“Well...” Lance started, looking between the two of them quizzically, as if seeing them for the first time. Then, finally, like sunlight slowly peeking in through a window, his expression brightened. 

“That’s, uh—” A breathless laugh escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair. Keith’s heart quivered at the return of his brilliant smile. “That’s great! Gotta say, I’m really glad you’re not my competition?” 

Keith froze. 

Wait. 

“Cause like, you would totally kick my ass but I would totally fight you anyway.”

Wait, _what?_

“Oh my god,” Keith breathed, understanding dawning on him. His eyes blew comically wide. “You didn’t think that...that _we_ were...Oh my god _no we’re just friends, Lance, I swear_ —”

He felt how the tips of his ears went red as he smacked a palm to his own forehead. Shiro bursting into laughter beside him did nothing to curb his embarrassment. 

“Well how was I supposed to know?” Lance defended, his arms waving wildly at Shiro, who was hunched over with a hand over his mouth as he laughed. “You waltz in here with some Adonis-looking dude and act all buddy-buddy and I’m _not_ supposed to think that? Seriously, I should be asking you what art gallery you stole him from!” 

Keith spluttered, unable to even begin to comprehend this situation anymore. This was an entirely different kind of disaster than he’d ever expected and he had no fucking clue how to handle it.

Thankfully Shiro managed to compose himself, since every time Keith tried to form words he ended up opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish. He rested a hand on Keith’s shoulder as he straightened, eyes still crinkled with mirth. 

“He told me all about you,” Shiro said once his chuckles died down, ignoring how Keith squawked and shook off his arm so he could punch it. 

“Shiro!” Keith hissed. The man in question only offered him a shrug and an amused glance and yeah, Keith was absolutely going to kill him in his sleep tonight. 

Slowly, as if it would numb him to what he knew he would find, Keith met Lance’s dancing eyes. 

“Did he now?” Lance sing-songed, drawing out the words so they matched the widening curl of his grin. 

Obviously he had no idea the hell that Keith was bound to be in for tomorrow, because Shiro just kept on smiling. “Figured I had to meet you for myself.”

It was absurd how quickly Lance got his confidence back. He crossed his arms as he leaned a hip against the counter. “Can’t say I blame you,” Lance said. He cast Keith a pointed look, followed by a wink. “I _am_ pretty awesome.” 

“I should’ve told him how much of an idiot you are,” Keith countered, his red face cancelling out any heat to the words. “Were you actually considering _fighting_ Shiro? I’m not a damsel in distress, Lance. You don’t need to—to _defend my honor_ , or whatever.”

Lance held up his hands. “Fair, but! For you I would do what I must. If getting my ass beat by another stunningly attractive man is what it would take to get with you? Sign me up.” This time he aimed a wink at Shiro, whose brows shot upward in response. “Full disclosure that my plan was to get Hunk to sit on you while I punched.”

Keith balked at the mental image. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m _awesome_. We just covered this, Mullet, keep up.” 

“Where is Hunk, anyway?” Keith asked, partially to turn the conversation away from this ridiculous topic and partially to hide how flustered he was that Lance would literally have picked a fist fight with big-as-shit Shiro for him because honestly? _What the fuck?_

“Oh, he’s in the back, serving out his sentence.” At the two blank looks he received, Lance elaborated, “He’s on inventory duty, also known as ‘the thing literally none of us want to do, ever.’ It’s basically cruel and unusual punishment.” Here Lance made a face. “It’s about time Allura made him do it for once.”

“What about me?”

A crisp British accent mingled with the shop’s gentle background music. Turning towards the voice, Keith was dazzled by the sight of an _unbelievably gorgeous_ woman emerging from a hallway that led to the back of the shop. Keith had never been attracted to women, but her beauty was irrefutable to the point where he would have to be literally blind to not appreciate it. 

She was tall even without the heels that clicked when she walked, and she had a shapely figure and deep brown skin that were both accentuated by a white pencil skirt and lavender blazer. Small white ruffles bloomed from the jacket’s sleeves and bottom hem, and a pink patterned blouse peeked out from between the lapels. Her hair was a stunning silver unlike anything Keith had ever seen, and was pulled up into a thick bun at the crown of her head. A few strands of gentle curls fell loose, kissing her neck and cheeks with wisps of starlight. 

Arguably the most attractive thing, though, was the aura of confidence and poise that she radiated just by walking. She was almost _regal_ as she swept across the shop towards them with long, graceful strides. It was an aura so undeniable that Shiro went rigid at his side, his years of military training likely kicking in, and even Keith couldn’t shake off the authority of her stare. 

“If it isn’t the angel herself!” Lance cried, a hand to his chest as he swooned against the counter. Apparently having her as his boss made him immune to her commanding presence. “Haven’t seen you yet today, gorgeous. You must be tired from running through my mind.”

A small, petty part of Keith bristled at hearing Lance hit on someone else, but it quickly quieted when Allura leveled Lance with an unimpressed look. Apparently Lance wasn’t the only one who’d built up an immunity. 

It wasn’t until she stopped before the trio that Keith saw how her eyes shone with impossible colors, like an opal caught under sunlight. He also saw how some of the formality melted from her countenance, replaced with a fond exasperation that Keith was becoming all too familiar with, and he immediately decided that he liked her. 

“Must you constantly greet me with one of your cheesy lines?” Allura asked. “It’s been nearly a year; does it not get tiring?” 

“Pshhh, no way, Princess,” Lance assured with an easy wave of his hand. “It’s basically a tradition at this point. Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Allura’s deadpan rivaled Keith’s. “If you put as much effort into your job as you do your flirting, perhaps you could actually get some work done.” 

Lance recoiled in dramatic offense. “My flirting brings you repeat business, I’ll have you know! And you can’t even tell me I’m wrong because Exhibit A is standing right here!” 

Lance gestured at Keith, effectively diverting Allura’s attention so that her eyes fell on him. Rosy lips pulled back into an ear to ear grin and, just like everything else about her, her smile was stunning. She held out a hand, and he saw that her long, perfectly-rounded nails were painted a pale pink. 

“From the way Lance was gaping at you, I take it you are the mysterious, nameless regular?” she asked. The way she spoke Lance’s name drew out the middle vowel, turning the harsh sound into an elegant, lengthened ‘ah.’ 

Keith focused on the peculiarity to keep from flushing. He nodded as he accepted her hand for a single shake, her grip strong enough to take him by surprise. 

“It’s a pleasure. Lance speaks quite fondly of you,” she continued, a bit of amusement leaking into the warmth of her smile. “I don’t know what distracts him from his work more: talking to you when you’re here, or talking about you when you’re not.”

Lance _eeped_ as Keith’s eyes widened. Allura released his hand, her poise never faltering in the face of Lance’s red-faced spluttering. Keith didn’t need to see himself to know that his cheeks looked a similar shade. At least he got the satisfaction of knowing that he wasn’t the only one who’d blabbed everything to someone else. 

“Sorry?” Keith tried. He refused to look at Lance’s adorable outrage, too conscious of their present company to let himself get caught up in how cute Lance was when he blushed. 

Allura merely laughed, a rich, melodious sound. Shiro sucked in a breath next to him, but Keith ignored it. “Don’t be. Normally I’d have a problem with someone so completely distracting my employees, but I suppose I can make an exception for Lance. I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s rather hard to say no to, when he tries.”

“ _Allura!_ ” Lance finally recovered enough to shout indignantly. “Don’t expose me like that!” 

“If you worked instead of rambling on, there’d be nothing for me to ‘expose,’” Allura stated primly, sounding the most like a boss that she had since she’d appeared, and Lance deflated. “You could try to do both at the same time, at the very least.”

“You know I have a hard time concentrating around pretty people,” Lance whined, slumping forward so his chin hooked over the top of the cash register. “It’s hard enough having you here all the time. How can you possibly expect me to get anything done when _he’s_ here?” 

If Keith couldn’t comprehend the situation with just Shiro thrown into the mix, he was struck utterly dumb now. How was it that meeting Lance’s _boss_ was more embarrassing than Lance meeting _Shiro?_ Keith’s thoughts scrambled desperately, but couldn’t get anywhere past ‘ _that’s the second time he’s called you pretty_.’ It was a miracle that he kept his hands at his sides instead of covering his neon red face. 

“It’s not difficult to show a bit of professionalism,” Allura admonished. 

The look she and Lance shared spoke to them communicating with eyebrow twitches and rivaling stares alone. Lance must’ve lost whatever silent battle they were having, though, because his pout only grew more exaggerated when he finally broke eye contact. Opposite of Lance, who only seemed to slump further and further, Allura stood that much taller. 

“You’ll not find me floundering over a customer, attractive though he may be.” 

Had Keith not given her his full attention, he might’ve missed how her gaze flickered to Shiro as she spoke those last few words. Given the way he visibly perked back up, Lance must’ve noticed it too. The two boys shared a dumbfounded look as Allura turned her attention to Shiro, and Keith focused on the introduction occurring beside him. 

Shiro had been incredibly stiff since Allura’s appearance, so Keith was relieved to see that he’d relaxed just so, even if there was still a slight hunch to his shoulders. Keith knew him well enough to know that, while for most people it would’ve signaled shame or unease, for Shiro, it was a sign of an entirely _different_ kind of discomfort. 

Studying his friend’s profile, Keith took in how Shiro’s chin dipped downward even as he stood a bit too tall, how the dark color of his eyes went soft as Allura’s gaze fell on him. He held her eyes unblinkingly, like he’d forgotten that Keith and Lance we there at all. 

The realization of what exactly he was witnessing came over Keith slowly, and though he said nothing, his smirk was ruthless as he settled in to watch the show with crossed arms. 

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Allura said as she held out her hand again. Her expression was open and the smile that overtook her lips was candidly beautiful. “Are you a friend of Lance’s regular?”

Shiro’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, slowly extending his prosthetic and taking Allura’s hand in a feather-light hold when she accepted without hesitation. “Shiro. It’s an honor.”

Allura grinned. “Indeed. And you, Shiro.”

Their hands remained intwined for a second longer than necessary. When they separated Shiro’s immediately found purchase at the base of his neck. “So, you’re Lance’s boss?”

“I am.” Allura tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I own Castle of Lions Café. And you? How do you know...?” She gave a nod in Keith’s direction.

Before Shiro could answer, Lance bolted up straight and smacked a hand on the register. “He’s not Mullet’s boyfriend!” he announced with too much enthusiasm, and Keith barely bit back a laugh. “Y’know, in case you’re wondering! I totally got it wrong, so. Easy mistake to make.”

Allura raised a single, elegant brow at Lance, sparing Shiro from being seen with the tips of his ears turning red. Keith, however, definitely saw it, and for the first time that morning was genuinely glad that he’d let Shiro tag along. 

In any other situation, Keith may have stepped in to spare Shiro some embarrassment. But in light of all the shit his friend had given him that day, not to mention over the entire weekend, Keith kept his mouth shut and his knowing smirk firmly in place. Shiro flicked him a look, but it was quick to fade when Allura’s attention returned to him. 

“Well, this is your first time in Castle of Lions Café then, correct?” she asked. Shiro nodded. “If you haven’t ordered yet, may I recommend a drink for you?”

“Allura knows all the brews like the back of her hand,” Lance said on his boss’s behalf. “She’s pretty much the queen of this coffee castle. Not that she’d ever brag about it, but luckily she’s got me to do that for her.”

“Oh, uh—” Shiro’s eyes flicked between the three of them. “Sure. That’d be great.”

Allura positively beamed and wow, Shiro’s answering smile couldn’t have been more obvious. Keith made a mental note to offer his friend lessons in keeping up a poker face. 

“Wonderful! What kind of roast do you favor?”

“I don’t drink coffee much,” Shiro admitted, “but I prefer dark roasts when I do.”

“I’m the same,” Allura said. “Owning a coffee shop is enough to make you sick of it, no matter how much you enjoyed it previously.” Her expression turned contemplative, then, and she scrutinized Shiro for a moment before nodding. “Lance, would you be so kind as to make Shiro an Altea brew?”

“Really?” 

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to look at Lance, drawn by the surprise in his tone. His big blue eyes blinked repeatedly at Allura, stunned. Keith had no idea what could’ve caused his sudden shock, and looked between boss and employee as Allura gave a pointed ahem. 

“Yes, I believe it will be a perfect fit.”

The barista put on a lopsided grin. “You don’t say. Yeah, yeah sure. You got it, Boss Lady.”

Allura breathed a soft laugh. “Very good. Well then.” Her authoritative demeanor came back full force. “I only came out for a bit of air. I really should be getting back to work.” 

She looked to Keith, then, and warmth shone in her eyes. “It was wonderful to finally meet you. I do hope you’ll keep coming back, if not for Lance’s sake, then for the rest of us. He’s truly hopeless when he’s heartbroken.” 

Lance immediately whined a slew of protests, but Allura looked at Keith with such firmness that he was easily ignored. 

It was such a simple statement, but it was enough to drive something sharp between Keith’s ribs. The words implied that Allura had seen as much before. Even more than he loathed the thought of Lance that way, Keith couldn’t fathom the type of person who could put a damper on that smile. 

Keith held her gaze with confidence. “He hasn’t scared me off yet.”

“Hey!” Lance shouted.

“You sure Lance is the one who’d be doing the scaring?” Shiro teased with a nudge to Keith’s side, earning the taller man a glare. 

Allura chuckled, and now that Shiro stood with a shoulder against his, Keith could feel the shiver that traveled through him at the sound. 

“I’m quite sure enough for the both of them.” Her multifaceted eyes glimmered as they fell on Shiro. “Do come along more often, Shiro. We’d be delighted to have you both back again.”

Keith was practically roasting in the heat Shiro exuded. Keith knew it was a precursor to his impending blush, and he groaned to divert Allura’s attention because he was just that good of a friend. 

“No way, Shiro can come when I’m _not_ here. I don’t think I can survive another morning like this.”

“I dunno, man, I think it’s been pretty great,” Lance said, aiming a deadly wink at Allura. Her immunity must have been even stronger than Keith originally thought, because even at that she merely shook her head. 

“Please prepare our customers’ drinks promptly, Lance. There are no other customers right now, but the steamers could always use a good cleaning.” 

She barely got the sentence out before Lance was whining, and her features sharpened back into professionalism as she raised a brow. “Or would you prefer to help Hunk finish inventory?”

Lance cut off with a cough, his plaintive groan morphing into a chipper laugh halfway through. “No no, no need for that, Princess! I’m on it!” He scrambled away from the register and to the drink station, frantically grabbing a pair of pitchers with a metallic clatter. “A cold brew and an Altea blend, coming up!”

Keith snickered as Allura hummed in approval. The ruffles on her blazer swished delicately as she turned away, casting Keith and Shiro one last look over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you both! Enjoy your day!”

Keith grunted, raising his fingers from where his arms were crossed to wave at her retreating back. Shiro muttered a “you too” from his side, but his voice was distant, distracted, and it took all of Keith’s strength to keep from scoffing while Allura was still in earshot. 

The clacking of Allura’s heels faded as she disappeared back down the hallway from which she’d come, and the shop seemed emptier without her incredible presence filling up the room. When Keith looked back to the others, Lance was gawking at Shiro from across the counter.

“Okay, _what?_ ” Lance’s voice raised an octave as he squawked, slamming down the pitchers he was holding so he could jab a finger at Shiro. “How the _fuck_ did you do that?”

Even with the volume of Lance’s shouting, it took Shiro a long moment to turn his gaze away from the hallway. With one look at his widened, literally starry eyes, Keith suspected that Shiro’s floored expression was due to more than Lance’s nonsensical outburst. 

“Do...what?”

“Dude,” Lance deadpanned. His brows lowered and Keith could tell that he was trying to reign in a pout. “I tried to hit on Allura for months when I first started here. And I mean, yeah, you’re you and I’m...” Lance gestured at himself in an offhanded way, “so you’ve for sure got a head start, but seriously, what the fuck did I just witness?” 

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith joined in, looking at the taller man expectantly. “Which one of us is trying to ‘woo the cute coffee shop worker’?” 

Shiro jolted, the shock on his face comical in proportion. “I wasn’t trying to—” He cleared his throat, putting a visible effort into not looking like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I wasn’t doing anything like that.”

Lance knelt down and bent so far into one of the compartments beneath the counter that his top half nearly disappeared. His scoff was muffled by the cabinet. 

“Really, man? Listen, since you’re a friend of my main Mullet here, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He grunted and seemingly struggled to reach for something, letting out a triumphant noise before he straightened with a bag of coffee grounds in one hand and the other planted firmly on his hip. “Even if _you_ weren’t—which, come on, don’t even try to deny it— _Allura_ so was.” 

“She did seem to like you,” Keith agreed. Lance nodded. 

“Trust me, she’s never flirty with anyone. Friendly? Yes. But just in that bullshit way that you have to be when you work customer service.” 

Shiro opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Lance cut him off. “And if you’re not convinced yet, _this_ is enough proof to be sure.”

He leaned forward and thrust the bag of coffee in Shiro’s face. As far as Keith could tell it was just like any other bag of pre-ground coffee. It was swirled with blue and shimmering white, with the word “Altea” branded across the front side in the most ridiculously loopy, swirly cursive font Keith had ever seen. A series of strange, fantasy-like symbols were printed down either side. 

Shiro’s eyes crossed trying to look at it, and Keith chuckled. Lance looked supremely pleased with himself. 

“The Altea blend is Allura’s special brew that she keeps on hand just for herself, _off menu_. She imports it straight from the Brits. It’s made with some crazy rare flower that she loves. Juniberries, or something.” Lance gave the bag a shake for emphasis. “I’ve never even gotten to try it, and she _never_ offers it to customers.”

When Lance finally lowered the bag, it was to offer Shiro a meaningful look. “It’s the only kind of coffee she drinks anymore. I think it reminds her of home.”

Shiro’s eyes widened, falling to the bag of coffee with barely concealed awe, and Keith had the startling realization that he’d probably looked the same way that day when Lance had made his drink for him. God, was he even physically capable of looking _that_ sappy? He was suddenly overcome with retroactive shame. 

“She...didn’t have to do that,” Shiro muttered as Lance tore the top off the bag. A rich, woodsy, floral scene wafted out the second it was opened. Lance shrugged and began measuring out scoops. 

“Yeah, but she did, so now that you’re clued in you better appreciate it. You also better come in sometimes now, too. Not only am I amazing boyfriend material, but I’m also a fierce BFF, so I’ll fight you twice over if you make Allura sad.”

Keith snorted. “He’ll be back. Isn’t that right, Shiro?”

The taller man actually had the nerve to look at him with exasperation, which was ridiculous. He deserved to have the tables turned on him and Keith had absolutely no remorse. 

He also didn’t deny it, which earned him two victorious grins. 

After they paid for their drinks, the trio chatted a bit more as Lance made Shiro’s coffee. It was a surprisingly laborious process, with more steps than Keith would’ve ever thought necessary for something that was pre-ground and packaged in a bag, to which Lance said that he was just making it how Allura always made it for herself. 

“Guess it makes sense that she’d lose her taste for everything but the super fancy stuff,” Lance remarked as he painstakingly ladled a dollop of frothy milk on top of the brew. His tongue poked out from between his lips, brows knit with concentration. Once satisfied, he pulled out another small container from beneath the counter and sprinkled a few flakes of...pink... _something_ on top before snapping the lid on. 

“Viola!” He gestured at the cup on the counter with both arms waving dramatically. “The myth, the legend, the one and only Altea brew.” 

Shiro reached between Lance’s jazz hands and took it with a sincere “thank you.” Both Lance and Keith leaned towards him as he raised the cup to his lips. Lance looked about ready to burst with anticipation. 

Before he’d even swallowed his first sip, Shiro’s expression lit up. He made a pleased sound and took another long drink. “Wow,” he said when he lowered the cup. “That’s amazing. I’ve never had coffee that tasted like this before.”

“Aww yeah, nailed it.” Lance slumped, relieved. “Allura would’ve killed me if I hadn’t done it right.”

Shiro smiled. “Best coffee I’ve ever had.”

Lance beamed. “Don’t rub it in, man.”

“Right, right,” Shiro laughed, and Lance waved him off. 

“It’s fine. You oughta tell her that next time you come in, yeah? Bet she’d be thrilled to hear.” 

An incredible softness overcame Shiro’s expression, then, his eyes drifting back to the hall at the back of the shop. He nodded wordlessly and took another sip.

Lance and Keith met each other’s eyes with twin mischievous grins. Lance leaned closer and stage whispered across the counter, “Can’t believe he actually tried to deny it.” 

Keith hummed in agreement. “For being one of the smartest people I know, Shiro can be as oblivious as I am sometimes.”

Of course that was when Shiro decided to snap out of his sappy thoughts. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he said. “You’ve been coming here for weeks, but it took you how long to finally do something about—”

Had Lance not detailed the special circumstances surrounding Shiro’s coffee, Keith would’ve smashed the cup into his face to shut him up. As it was he settled for aiming a kick at his shin. 

But Shiro was used to Keith’s low blows by now. He stepped backwards in anticipation of the move, and Keith ended up kicking the flat front of the counter instead. He grunted in tune with the dull thud as a jolt traveled up his leg. 

“You know, sometimes I wonder if I should be glad for being on this side of the counter,” Lance teased with a good-natured wink. Keith’s features scrunched up anyway. 

“Shiro deserves it.”

“You know your friendship is real when you’re willing to put up with this kind of abuse,” Shiro sighed. Lance actually looked at him sympathetically and Keith was too torn over who to glare at, so he just frowned down at his shoes. 

“Oh yeah, only real friends gang up on each other— _hey!_ ” 

Keith saw it coming too late and could only squawk when Shiro’s free hand reached out and ruffled his hair. The wave of raw indignation and fury that washed over him completely nullified any embarrassment over how his voice shot up a full octave.

Keith swatted him away brutally, flushing at the feeling of his hair laying in odd loops and bunches. Shiro and Lance both laughed and laughed. If looks could kill Keith’s glare would’ve burnt Shiro to a crisp, even when it was more than half obscured by black fringe. His fists clenched at his sides. 

“ _This_ ,” Keith grit out. “ _This_ is why Shiro deserves it.” 

Lance only laughed harder, a full-bodied sound that tinged his cheeks pink. Keith resolutely ignored him as he tried to fix his hair, quietly seething. 

Lance’s shoulders still shook, but he gathered himself enough to beckon Keith forward. “You’re just making it worse. C’mere, let me help.” 

Keith’s only answer was a wary look.

“What, you think I’m gonna do it, too?” Keith didn’t respond, and Lance snorted. His eyes practically glowed as he made a show of trying to peer around Keith’s bangs. “I’m not that cruel. Now come _on_ , you look like a black cat that just came out of a wind turbine, let me help.” 

Knowing that Lance’s analogy of his appearance was probably right on the nose, Keith groaned and dejectedly stepped forward until his stomach hit the edge of the counter. He tipped forward with his arms limp at his sides. 

“Oh my god, no, come on,” Lance prodded, poking Keith’s cheek, “no being a _sad_ black cat. Sad animals always make _me_ sad.”

Well shit, Keith couldn’t have that. He huffed, but managed to lift his eyes from the countertop. It was worth it to meet Lance’s grin. 

“That’s better. Now hold still,” Lance instructed. 

Even if he’d wanted to Keith couldn’t have disobeyed, because suddenly Lance’s hand was _right there_. All the breath caught in his lungs as those long, nimble fingers hovered just next to his temple, seeming to hesitate, but then they moved forward and began brushing through his locks and Keith damn near wanted to _purr_. 

Huh. Maybe the black cat thing wasn’t too far off. 

Lance made a sound of wonder as he gently carded through Keith’s hair. His touch was almost reverent, and Keith decided it was a blessing that he didn’t have the energy to blush anymore. 

He had to fight to keep his eyes open as Lance gently set each misplaced lock of hair right again. His fingers combed easily through Keith’s hair, probably a bit more than was actually necessary for his task, but Keith sure as hell wasn’t complaining. 

When he finally finished Lance’s thumb brushed against Keith’s cheek as he pulled away, leaving a line of tingles in its wake. “There we go,” he declared proudly. “The mullet makes a triumphant return.”

Now that the moment had ended Keith could feel Shiro watching him again, and kept his attention firmly fixed on Lance. He shifted on his feet a bit, feeling like he should probably back away from the counter now that Lance was done but wanting to do anything but put more space between them. 

The smile he summoned was small but genuine. “Thanks.” 

“No problem, man,” Lance assured with an easy grin. “I do my little sister’s hair all the time, I actually kinda love it? There’s something relaxing about it, anyway.” Lance shrugged, and Keith found himself grinning at the mental image. 

“But, unfortunately, as much as I’d love to tell you all about my mad hair-styling skills,” the barista continued, throwing an arm across his forehead, “I’ve been ordered by the Princess to ‘prepare your drinks promptly,’ and considering how long that concoction took—” he jabbed a finger at Shiro’s cup, “—I’d better get moving before she has my head. Or makes me do inventory.” The last word made Lance shudder. 

“It was worth the work, if it’s any consolation,” Shiro supplied around another glug of coffee. 

“And that’s what the Castle of Lions Café Life is all about,” Lance nodded. He reached for another cup, looking at Keith expectantly. “What ingenious title are you going by today?”

Somehow the question caught Keith off guard. Between Lance meeting Shiro, Keith meeting Allura, and Shiro and Allura meeting _each other_ , he’d almost forgotten he hadn’t followed through with the tradition yet. Thankfully, he always decided on a name before actually coming to the shop. 

“Fin Shepard.” 

For a long moment Lance stared at him blankly. Ever so slowly his features drooped until his brows drew downward and his nose wrinkled, adorably petulant. When he spoke again his voice was equal parts confused and dismayed. “Who the heck is that?”

He looked more perturbed than was probably necessary, like he was genuinely upset that he didn’t understand one of Keith’s references. Seeing Lance take it so seriously made up for the fact that it wasn’t as fun when Keith had to explain it. 

Before he had the chance to even start, though, Shiro laughed so sharply that Keith was surprised he didn’t inhale his coffee. Keith looked at him with an annoyed “what?” as Shiro’s hand came down on his shoulder. 

“Okay, hold on, I’m sorry but this boy is too good for you,” Shiro managed through his laughter. “As your best friend, it needs to be said.” 

Keith’s jaw dropped while Lance made a strange, strained sound. His blue eyes went wide and he abruptly spun away, beginning Keith’s drink with obvious, single-minded focus. 

“Shiro!” Keith snapped, whirling on his friend and hunching his shoulders in a futile attempt to hide how his ears burned. “You can’t just say shit like that!” 

“I can when it’s true! He doesn’t know who your crappy movie protagonist is!” Shiro gestured at Lance with his coffee cup like the statement justified everything. Lance’s gaze flicked to them, shimmering with surprise and quiet delight, and Keith wanted to fall through the fucking floor. “And you told me that his favorite Disney movie is ‘Atlantis.’ He has taste.”

Keith crossed his arms. “Implying that I don’t?”

Shiro held his gaze, grinning so hard that it wobbled. “We both know the answer to that.”

Okay, yeah, Keith liked bad movies. So what? He _knew_ they were bad! But there was something beautiful about them, too, in that ‘so bad you’ll laugh until you can’t breathe and you’ll remember this movie forever because of it’ kind of way!

Before Keith could go off, Lance apparently got over his fluster and turned back towards them as he mixed ingredients in a silver pitcher. “Is anyone gonna answer my question? Who _is_ that?”

Keith shoved Shiro away and piped up first, “He’s the main character in the Sharknado movies.” 

Lance still looked confused. “Shark... _nado?_ ”

Ever the kind soul, Shiro took it upon himself to elaborate, “It’s a movie about a tornado made out of sharks, and it—”

“The tornado isn’t _made_ out of sharks,” Keith interrupted. He knew he wasn’t exactly helping his case, but it was an important clarification! “The sharks are _in_ a regular tornado.”

Shiro looked at him sideways, and Keith could tell he was trying not to smile again. “Either way they’re terrible. He’s subjected me to all of them more times than I care to count.”

Lance had stopped stirring, his brows slowly creeping upward like he was solving the world’s most difficult puzzle. “Wait, wait, so—there’s more than one? And they’re _all_ known for being the worst thing since unsliced bread?”

Keith grumbled an affirmative while Shiro said, “Pretty much.”

Astonishingly, delight was spreading across Lance’s face. “Oh man, of course you like shitty movies,” he practically snickered. “I so should’ve seen that coming.” 

Keith was literally powerless to stop himself from getting defensive. “They’re not that bad!” He made a face as soon as the words left his mouth. “Well, they are, but they’re so bad that they’re good.” 

“See, you say that, but apparently your taste is questionable, so I’m forced to not believe you,” Lance chuckled. Keith frowned as he picked up the pitcher again. “But hey, guess that means you’ll just have to prove me wrong sometime, huh?”

Keith’s face went warm and fuzzy, and he had to swallow before he could speak. “You are wrong, so that’ll be too easy.”

Lance’s posture abruptly straightened and he turned his face upward so he could look down the slope of his nose. He even made his voice higher-pitched and haughty, “Um, as the connoisseur of life’s finer things, I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

He held the pose for about three seconds before his grin broke through and had the three of them laughing. 

“But seriously, I’ll have to check it out sometime,” Lance said as he finished Keith’s drink. He snapped the lid on and held it with his fingertips cupping the bottom of the cup. “It can’t be too bad if you like it.” 

Keith elbowed Shiro on reflex before he could get out any of the laughter he knew was coming. His other hand plucked his drink from Lance’s. “You’ll see.” 

“If it burns my retinas I’m blaming you.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.” 

The barista laughed. “Just saying! Blame will be placed where blame is due.” 

With both of their drinks in hand, Keith and Shiro angled away from the counter. As always, Keith’s gaze lingered on Lance as if that ocean blue was calling to him. He knew he needed to get to work, but it would never be easy to turn away. 

“Oh, hey, Shiro, before you go—” Lance called, stopping the pair halfway to the door. Keith wasn’t nearly prepared enough to turn around and catch sight of the barista leaning over the counter with an exaggerated pout and fluttering eyelashes. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to spill the beans on Mr. Mullet’s secret identity?”

Shiro held up his free hand and drew up his shoulders. “Nope, no way,” he answered quickly as he continued to walk backwards towards the door. “I’m walking the line as it is, and he does know where I sleep.”

Keith snorted. At least Shiro knew he was on thin ice. 

Lance’s puppy dog eyes melted into disappointment. “Aww,” he muttered, drooping until his torso was flattened against the counter. His chin rested on the countertop and his outstretched arms hung over the far side. “Not even if I put in a good word for you with Allura?” 

That gave Shiro pause. He stopped walking and Keith glared daggers into the side of his head. The asshole had the nerve to consider the suggestion, and Keith stood poised to clamp a hand over Shiro’s mouth at any moment. 

Shiro’s gaze wandered the shop as he thought, finally catching sight of the look Keith was giving him. He let out a long sigh, his smile apologetic. “Sorry, Lance.”

Lance sighed, but twirled a limp, dismissive hand. “Nah, it’s okay. Didn’t really expect that to work, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.” His eyes moved to Keith as his pout curled into a lazy smirk. “I’ll get it out of him one day.”

Keith rolled his eyes, the motion driven entirely by affection. With a nudge to Shiro’s arm he turned back towards the door. “Nice try, Lance.”

“Nice to meet you!” Shiro called cheerfully, and Lance echoed the sentiment before they stepped back out onto the sidewalk. The bell above the door to the shop trilled as it closed behind them. The outside air helped Keith breathe easily again for the first time since they’d arrived. 

Well, he hadn’t been wrong: Lance and Shiro meeting had been a moderate travesty, especially for Keith’s blood pressure. He felt like his face was permanently stained red, and he was sure he would be in for even more teasing from Lance tomorrow, but...

Reflecting on the experience, Keith supposed it could’ve gone a lot worse. Lance could’ve reacted badly to Shiro’s prosthetic, or the two of them could’ve not gotten along at all. At least when they were ganging up on Keith, that meant they were on the same page. 

A prickle at the back of his neck told him that Shiro was staring at him again. Mouth pressing into a line, Keith let out a long breath. “So.”

Shiro nodded as if he’d said something profound. “So.” 

Quiet stretched between them until Keith shot the other man an expectant look. There was no way he was taking the first step into the minefield that was bound to be the aftermath of that meeting. 

After a moment Shiro seemed to get the idea, making a noncommittal sound as he looked back through the window of Castle of Lions Café. It gave Keith the opportunity to watch him like a hawk, scrutinizing his expression for any hint that would betray what he was thinking. 

As he watched, Shiro’s expression went soft again, and he smiled. “He seems like a nice kid. I like him.”

Keith hadn’t realized just how desperately he’d wanted Shiro to like Lance until his friend confirmed that he did. The relief that rushed through Keith’s limbs was all consuming, and the edge of tension he’d carried since he’d arrived with Shiro that morning finally ebbed away.

Keith huffed out an equally soft laugh as he followed Shiro’s gaze. It was hard to see between the large lettering of the words painted on Castle of Lions Café’s glass front, not to mention with how the staff bustled around behind the counter, but Keith’s eyes easily found Lance’s familiar mop of hair, facing away from them towards the supply room at the far side of the counter. 

“There you go, sounding old again.”

If Shiro gave him a look, he ignored it.

“He really likes you, Keith.”

The earnestness of his friend’s tone caught Keith off guard. He risked a glance at Shiro before watching Lance disappear behind the supply room double doors. “You think so?”

“Keith,” Shiro said in that tone he got whenever he was gearing up to deliver a lecture. “Remember how you called me oblivious earlier? Sorry to break it to you, but you really don’t have room to talk.” 

With Lance out of sight, Keith turned to lean back against the window. The brick of the wall beneath it stuck out a few inches further and forced his back to bend uncomfortably, making the position as awkward as their conversation. Just like their conversation, Keith just grimaced and accepted it. 

Shiro’s grin curled even wider. “He was heartbroken when he thought we were together.”

And of course Shiro had to make it even _more_ awkward. Keith groaned, bringing his coffee up to rest the cool cup against his forehead. “We are never talking about that again.” 

“I’m okay with that. In any case,” Shiro continued, “I don’t think you have anything to be worried about. I know you like what you have now, but don’t you think it might be time to actually ask him out like you so clearly want to?”

Oh, wasn’t that the million dollar question? 

Of course Keith wanted to ask Lance out for real. He wanted to talk with Lance, know everything about him, be with him. The thought of spending real, extended time together without having to worry about jobs or people watching lit a pleasant thrum under his skin.

But it also made the wounded, feral parts of him that had been left behind one too many times rear back and bite. The conflicting emotions waged war inside him with the ferocity of opposing packs of wolves. His heart felt ripped open and raw with every negative, pessimistic thought that he couldn’t fight away. 

So, instead of being honest he shrank back into defensiveness. “Make it sound so easy, why don’t you. How about I ask Lance out when _you_ ask _Allura_ out. You can see just how easy it is.” 

Shiro could read him far too well sometimes, damn his observance, but at least it was good for times like this, when Keith really _really_ didn’t want him to push the issue. The taller man stepped away from the window with a sigh. 

“Just something to think about,” he relented. He watched Keith a moment longer, before, “And I’m holding you to that, you know.” 

Keith jolted, his head whipping up. Shiro had already turned and began walking down the sidewalk, and Keith hastily pushed off the wall and chased after him. He shook a fist at his retreating back. 

“I _knew_ you were flirting! This is going both ways, Shiro! If I ask Lance you have to ask Allura! Shiro? Shiro!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is absolutely the hardest member of the Voltron crew for me to write, so I HOPE YOU ALL LIKED HIM 8'D 
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	7. Talk Ninja to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith is thirsty and I give you all a peek at my inner nerd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO fair warning that this chapter's fake name for Keith is from Overwatch because I am a horrible nerd and love that game far too much for it to be healthy. xD Also, there is enough thirst in this chapter to drain the ocean. 
> 
> I won't spoil which character he chooses (although you can probably infer from the chapter title, haha), but I just wanted to let you all know: the boys do talk about the game a bit, but I know some of you may not be familiar with it or its characters, so fear not! I've included links at the bottom so those of you who are unfamiliar can see the characters they're talking about, since you really have to know what they look like to appreciate the chapter fully!
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Tuesday morning saw Keith feeling off-kilter during his walk to Castle of Lions Café. 

Even twenty-four hours later he was still having trouble recovering from everything that had happened the day before. He hadn’t even known his face could _get_ that red, and he could’ve gone his whole life without finding out. 

It was nothing short of a miracle that Shiro hadn’t given him too much trouble after the fact, but Keith suspected it was only because he knew that Keith could easily turn the shit-giving back on him in equal measure. Shiro meeting Allura had landed him in a metaphorical grave, and though Keith’s was dug far deeper, now the both of them were laid out side by side. Their eulogies would mercifully gloss over how pathetic they both were since it would be pretty damn obvious from their tombstones reading “killed by beautiful eyes.” 

Of course, getting a lucky break with Shiro in no way meant that he’d be safe from Lance himself. 

He’d spent his time getting ready that morning mentally preparing himself for the astronomical levels of shit that Lance was no doubt going to throw at him. Unlike Shiro, he suspected that Lance would _absolutely_ still tease him six ways to Sunday even though Keith could do the same back. Lance just seemed like that kind of masochist. 

Keith tried to be annoyed about it, but he just couldn’t find it in himself. Their bickering was weirdly fun, plus he’d take some lighthearted teasing over the dull-eyed, reserved Lance he’d momentarily witnessed the day before. 

So long as Lance was laughing, Keith didn’t care if he was laughing at him. 

The cheesiness of the thought nearly made him cringe, but that didn’t stop it from being true. God, Lance’s corniness and over-the-top lines were more contagious than the plague. 

Determined to not give Lance any further ammunition, when Keith arrived he stopped outside the shop door long enough to wipe the scandalized look from his face. A strange feeling overcame him as he stood gazing through the shop’s front window, like the giddy dread of standing on the edge of a frigid swimming pool about to jump in. At first it would be fucking terrible and he’d curse himself for being such an idiot, but once he got over the chill it would be worth it. 

He held his breath and took the plunge.

“Well, well, well!”

The chime of the shop’s door was completely drowned out by Lance’s voice. In literally any other place and circumstance, it should have been surprising to be verbally called out the second he walked through the door to a public eatery, but Keith knew to expect it by now. He was beginning to understand Allura’s apparent immunity to Lance’s antics, although how it also extended to his ridiculous levels of charm was anyone’s guess.

The volume of his exclamation startled a few tables sitting near the counter, but Lance either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was stood by the sink, and held a damp rag and what looked like a whipped cream canister in either hand, the latter of which was filled with soapy water that sloshed dangerously as he whipped around to watch Keith walk in. 

Lance’s eyes found him and gave a critical sweep of the entryway. “Back again without your BFBFF, I see.”

‘ _And here we go_.’ Keith rolled his eyes as he bypassed the register entirely, stepping right up to the pick-up side of the counter without thinking, but then again, the illusion that he came in for the coffee had probably been broken by _last_ Tuesday, so fuck it. 

He gave Lance his best ‘do I even want to know’ look. “BFBFF?”

“Buff-as-Fuck Best Friend Forever,” Lance elaborated, and Keith snorted. Well, he wasn’t _really_ wrong. Lance clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Slacking on his promise already. Or did you return him to the art gallery?”

“Shiro’s not going to come in every day, Lance.” Keith had long since accepted his fate; Shiro had slightly more self-control than that, though, which meant he would probably wait a sensible amount of time before returning. Keith gave him a week before he cracked. 

“Not even after I made him the best damn coffee he’s ever had?” Lance asked, scandalized. His bottom lip jutted out just enough to be distracting. “I’m hurt.” 

“He said he doesn’t drink coffee often,” Keith pointed out the most obvious of the many practical reasons for Shiro not to be with him again, but unsurprisingly, Lance scoffed in the face of pragmatism.

“No excuse,” Lance huffed, before his expression creeped into something sly that had absolutely _no_ business making Keith’s stomach flip. 

Lance set his supplies down like he was preparing for something, turning away from the sink and moving so they were directly across from each other. The glint in his eye immediately told Keith that whatever he was planning was bound to be ridiculous. 

“Besides, Castle of Lions Café is just... _irresistible_ , isn’t it?” His voice dropped into a playful sing-song, and Keith knew what was coming before it ever left his mouth. 

Thunking his elbows on the counter, Lance curled one hand beneath his chin while the other gestured grandly around the shop. 

“What is it about Castle of Lions Café that makes a morning coffee that much sweeter?” The barista’s voice took on the saccharine drawl of a nature documentary narrator. “Could it be the ambiance? The atmosphere? The exotic blends? The clientele?” He paused to shoot Keith a wink. “I can’t put my finger on it! It’s gotta be one of the greatest mysteries of the universe.” 

Keith fought to keep his features neutral. After making a point to take an exaggerated look around the shop, he hummed noncommittally. 

“Could be the slow service.”

Lance’s elbow slipped and he flailed to stop himself from face-planting into the counter. 

“Wow, rude!” he cried when he recovered. “I think you mean ‘the five-star, stunningly handsome service.’”

“I think five-star is a little generous.”

Lance slapped his hands down and slapped a grin on his face, leaning in with an eyebrow waggle. “We make up for it with charm.”

 _Fuck_ , that smile would always make his knees weak. Keith smirked to cover it up. “I’ll be sure to write that in my Yelp review. ‘It took half an hour to get my drink, but the cashier’s finger guns made it all worth it.’”

“Hey, if these guns aren’t enough for you—” Lance’s right hand aimed one of the finger guns in question at Keith’s chest, while he flexed his left arm shamelessly as if he were a muscle-laden bodybuilder, “—then I’ve always got these!” 

Now see, Keith liked to stay fit. He went for a run almost every day and even splurged on a seven-dollar gym membership for months he could spare the cash. While he wasn’t the type to show it off, he took a quiet sort of pride in his hard-earned physique.

That said, he’d never been one for the Brick-Shithouse-Weightlifter type. A line had to be drawn somewhere on the spectrum of “too much of a good thing,” and he found something decidedly unattractive about anyone who spent hours sitting on a padded bench grunting like a caveman. More often than not, once the muscles got much bigger than Shiro’s, Keith was usually O-U-T.

Lance flaunted his bicep with all the confidence of a buff frat guy named Chad, and as much as the similarities in mannerisms made Keith want to scoff, the differences in physicality glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

Keith had been hopelessly attracted to Lance from the start; the deeper layers of it had piled on over a week of getting to know him, of seeing the kindness and the open heart that hid within the beautiful package.

But the superficial, physical attraction? That had been there since day fucking one. He hadn’t really even tried to hide it, and if he had, Lance’s constant innuendos would’ve outed him a long time ago.

Of course, though, in yet another instance that proved that the universe most definitely hated him, Lance’s gesture just drew attention to the fact that the shirt he wore that day was skin-tight. The three-quarter length sleeve hugged his bicep perfectly, and Keith was equal parts relieved and enraged that his uniform apron prevented Keith from seeing how the coral-colored fabric had to be clinging to his torso.

Since he couldn’t actually see it, his imagination took the thought and fucking ran with it instead, his eyes betraying him and tracing the line where pink met sun-kissed brown. 

Through a herculean effort, Keith put on his best unimpressed face and wrenched his gaze back to those glittering blue eyes. “Wow, you’ve really changed my mind. Best service I’ve ever had. Really.”

“Oh, shut it, Mullet,” Lance chuckled, arms flopping to his sides. 

There was a rosy tinge to his cheeks as he stood up straight that Keith suspected was leftover from yesterday. It had been a lot for everyone involved, but so far his fear that meeting Shiro would be too much too quickly showed no signs of being true. Lance was being his usual self, and despite his better judgement, Keith couldn’t stop himself from wondering. 

Had Lance spent the past twenty-four hours worrying, too? 

Lance swiped his hands on his apron and jerked his head to indicate Keith to follow, stepping over to the register. Another barista with twin long, platinum blonde braids on either side of her head was positioned in front of it already, teeth smacking a piece of gum as she scrolled lazily through her phone. Lance tried to shoo her away, but the girl just glared at him and stood stubbornly until Lance physically hip-checked her.

She stumbled a step and immediately whipped around, expression indignant, but Lance shot her a dazzling smile and a made a heart with his hands.

“Thanks Nyma, you’re the best, you can have it back in just a second!” he chirped. The girl’s face loosened from ‘about to murder’ to ‘exasperated acceptance,’ and she rolled her eyes as she swept into the supply room.

Lance settled in behind the register and tapped in Keith’s order. “Ya know,” he started, still hitting keys even as he peered up at Keith, “if you keep complaining about our so-called shitty service, I’m gonna have to rush you outta here to prove you wrong, and I don’t think either of us want that.” 

Keith couldn’t really argue with that. So he didn’t, and wordlessly handed over his payment. Lance took the cash and opened the drawer with automatic movements. 

“Imagine it like...” the barista trailed off once he’d nudged the drawer closed. Without warning he plastered on a sugary, customer service-worthy smile and stared right at him. 

“Allow me to whip up your drink in a jiffy, sir!” Lance said, voice too loud and forcefully cheerful. “Then you can enjoy your delicious beverage while we have a moderately awkward conversation about the weather, and I’ll smile and laugh at everything you say because I’m just a service worker who doesn’t get tips if I piss you off!” 

Keith’s surprise quickly devolved into a snort. That was...very specific. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re bitter about something?” he asked, side-eyeing Lance’s too-huge smile.

True to his word, Lance barked out a single, unnecessarily loud laugh. “Not at all, sir! I’m delighted to be of service to you— _and_ all the people who come in for their morning coffee but are pissy because it’s ass o’clock and even though I’m _literally making it for them right now_ they haven’t _actually had_ their morning coffee!”

Despite the forced cheer there was something distinctly unsettling about Lance’s ridiculous customer service voice. It was probably due to the fact that Keith had become so attuned to Lance’s genuine happiness that seeing such a butchered imitation of it threw him totally off balance, like trying to walk with your shoes on the wrong feet. 

That sort of thing was exactly why Coran didn’t let him interface with customers anymore. His “customer service voice” was just blatant irritation tempered by the thinnest veneer of congeniality. 

“Use that voice again and I’m leaving.”

Lance dropped the facade in an instant, like a particularly heavy burden that was gratefully and gracelessly shucked to the ground at the first opportunity. 

“And that, Mullet, is why you’re one of the few customers I actually like seeing. One reason among many.” He threw a wink in with the latter statement, and though it was cheesy, Keith felt his heart do a little flip anyway. 

As he stepped back over to the drink-making station, the barista snatched a cup and whipped out his sharpie, twirling it in a hypnotizing motion between his fingers. Amid the marker’s complicated twirls, Lance tapped the cap against the rim of the cup in an upbeat, vaguely familiar rhythm. Keith followed him down the counter, distracted enough by the display that when he looked away there was an unmistakable gleam in Lance’s eye. 

“Alright, lay it on me. I’m _dying_ to hear it after yesterday’s.”

“Don’t knock Sharknado until you’ve seen it,” Keith defended automatically, completely unable to help that he was completely serious. Lance tutted at him.

“I can and I will. Don’t worry, everyone has their flaws. Luckily, liking shitty movies is hardly a deal-breaker, at least in my book.”

Keith pinned him with a blank look. “Thank goodness.”

Lance just made a the universal motion for ‘bring it on,’ flicking his fingers towards himself from around the empty cup, and Keith faked exasperation to hide his very real relief. 

“Genji Shimada.” 

Lance’s jaw dropped and, as Keith watched, he became the human embodiment of the word “gobsmacked.” His features twisted and he reared back, nearly fumbling his sharpie.

“Oh. My. God. Oh _hell_ naw. Are you a _Genji main?_ ” 

His voice got so high on the last two words that it actually cracked. Keith’s only response came in the form of a sly smile, and the unadulterated horror that unfolded across Lance’s features tripled. 

“Ohmygod get out. Seriously. I can no longer associate with you, I’m done. Like, yeah, okay, at least you’re the more tolerable Shimada brother, but—” 

Keith’s grin just grew more and more wicked. Lance caught his eye and threw up his arms. 

“Okay, no—you know what? Just _no_. My second most played hero is a support and there is _no_ fucking excuse for this, _I cannot believe!_ ”

Keith couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. His stomach hurt in seconds from the force of it, the sound starkly contrasting with Lance’s continued outrage that only got worse the more Keith laughed. 

“No. No no no, no coffee for you: it’s Real Talk Time, Mullet. Get ready for a real deal-breaker, no joke.” 

Lance plunked the empty cup down with a hollow _tap_ so he could clasp his hands together before his face as if he were praying for the patience to finish their conversation. Keith’s grin trembled as Lance’s eyes closed and he took a deep, exaggerated breath.

When those gorgeous blues opened again Lance eyed him with the seriousness of a judge about to give a death sentence. “Do you know how to stay on the goddamn payload?” 

Psh, that was all? He’d expected a hard question. 

“Of course,” he said easily, waiting long enough for Lance’s posture to slacken in relief. Then his grin cracked wide, toothy and wicked. “Unless I’m hunting down supports.”

Lance looked like he’d just personally assaulted his mother. He jammed an accusing finger towards Keith’s chest, mouth opening and closing, so intensely offended that he apparently couldn’t even form words. An enraged sound broke from him, and Keith could practically see him trying to restart his brain. 

“You—! _You!_ ”

“Me,” Keith agreed. 

Lance glared at him with what was probably supposed to be viciousness, but Keith just found it adorable. He snatched up the empty cup and pointedly spun around as he started Keith’s drink, grumbling about “fucking _ninjas_ ” under his breath.

Keith could feel how his eyes crinkled with his smile, and his cheeks were beginning to ache. As ridiculous as it was, Lance’s petulance had quickly become one of his favorite things, and Keith found himself wishing he’d used this name a long time ago. If only he’d known _this_ was the reaction he would get.

Unfortunately for Lance, pushing Lance buttons had quickly become a close second favorite. 

“I should’ve known you couldn’t appreciate the skill of playing Genji,” Keith sighed at his turned back, watching Lance’s shoulders go rigid. “Being a ninja requires stealth. You couldn’t keep quiet long enough to sneak up on anyone.” 

Lance’s gaze whipped to him, zeroing in with an intensity that would’ve been frightening if it hadn’t been ruined by how his scowl was more of a pout. 

“Fuck you and your dragons.”

Keith snorted. “Who do _you_ play?” Given the intensity of Lance’s reaction, his answer had better be good.

Instead of going off about his own main and how they were clearly superior like Keith expected, it was Lance’s turn to grin impishly. The curve of his lips did double duty of filling Keith with dread and desire at the same time. 

“Guess.”

Fuck. Okay, he probably deserved that. Naturally Keith took the dare for the challenge it was. His eyes narrowed as he inspected Lance, crossing his arms in thought. 

“You said you play support?”

“Second most played,” Lance repeated with a hum. 

Keith thought about everything he’d come to know about Lance. He thought about what Lance broadcasted to the outside, the part of him that was loud, wild, unapologetically boisterous and unpredictable. 

But he also thought about the deeper glimpses he’d been gifted. Glimpses of the selflessness and warmth. How he was so inherently lovable and always trying to make everyone smile.

In his pondering the stray thought crossed his mind that Lance was a pretty decent role model, and it stood to reason that he could probably play a damn good hero. Maybe little Laura’s knight in shining armor theory hadn’t been too far off. 

He pursed his lips. “Tracer?”

Lance gave a single shake of his head. “Nope!” 

“D.Va?”

“Lance, 2. Mullet, 0,” he chirped in a startlingly accurate D.Va impression.

“Mei?”

“Fuck, dude, I’m a troll sometimes but I’m not _Satan_. You know, a less confident man might be offended that you’re guessing all the bubbly girl characters, but they’re also hella rad, so I see it as the compliment it is. Wrong again, though.”

Thoughts churning, Keith studied Lance’s smug smile for a long moment. “If it’s Hanzo I’m leaving and never coming back.”

Lance’s grin widened so much it reached both his ears. “I think I’ll leave the Shi-mada-mada-ing to you. Give up?”

Keith squinted hard at the other boy, as if he could will the correct answer to appear across his forehead if he looked hard enough. But he had no such luck, and was forced to gruffly concede. 

“It’s obvious when you think about it, really.” Lance pressed a hand to his chest while the other settled on his hip, a posture that exuded confidence. “There’s only one character in Overwatch who’s as fine as I am.”

Keith snapped his fingers like he’d had a revelation. “Ah, got it. Torbjörn.”

He must’ve been expecting the dig, because Lance’s hand flashed out to whack his arm faster than Keith could dodge. His yelp was out of surprise more than anything, but he still drew a few inches away from the counter with a half-hearted glare. 

“ _No_ , come on, man. It’s so obvious.” But Keith didn’t take the bait, and Lance sighed heavily, throwing his arms wide. “Widowmaker, duh!”

Keith stared. 

And stared.

His brain felt like a computer stuck in a feedback loop, endlessly restarting because every time it came to, it couldn’t comprehend what the fuck was going on. Finally, though, Keith forced away the blue screen of death hanging around his frontal lobe. 

“Widowmaker?”

“Ye-p,” Lance popped the P, grin slanting across his face. “I can’t believe you couldn’t guess that.”

“ _Me?_ ” Keith cried, probably louder than necessary, but his incredulity was warranted! “I can’t believe you gave me shit when you’re a Widow main!”

“Hey, I’m a stone-cold killer _and_ a French babe. You, my friend, are just a weeb in a tin can.” Keith made an offended sound, but Lance talked over him. “C’mon, can’t you picture me in that tight-ass bodysuit?”

Watching Keith deliberately, Lance took a step away from the counter so he could give Widowmaker’s signature bow. He dipped grandly at the waist, ass pushed out behind him, arms fluttering out to either side, lashes tickling his cheeks. He looked deliberately up at Keith through the fan of them and the wisps of hair that fell across his forehead. 

“ _One shot, one kill_.” 

Lance’s French accent was god-awful, but his voice dropped half an octave lower as the voiceline purred from his tongue. The sound slid down Keith’s spine, and suddenly he got the distinct feeling that he was indeed in Widowmaker’s sights. 

And then Lance winked, and it did Keith in worse than a sniper shot through the heart. 

Oh. 

_Oh_. 

The mental image wormed its way into his consciousness despite him actively trying to fight it back, and the heat that bloomed with it was scalding. It crept up his neck and across his cheeks, leaving a ruddy stain across his cheekbones—and it crept downward, shooting curls of unfiltered _want_ into his stomach and lower still. Suddenly his collar felt too tight, his palms too sweaty. 

Yes, he most definitely _could_ imagine that. 

But he really, _really shouldn’t_. 

Keith’s incredible affinity to pull a blank face never seemed to do him any good when it really mattered. Either that or maybe Lance could simply see through his attempts at keeping his cool easily as Widowmaker could see through walls. Odds were it was a bit of both, but either way, Lance straightened again with a knowing grin, eyebrows waggling so hard Keith was surprised they didn’t fling right off his face. 

“ _Encore?_ ” Lance purred—or at least, he tried to purr, but his accent was so terrible that it came out more like a gurgle. It wasn’t sexy in the slightest, but it was unfairly endearing. 

Keith cleared his throat roughly, his arms tightening where they were crossed over his chest in a subtle tell of how hard he was concentrating to keep his composure. 

Thankfully his voice came out strong enough. “I hunt down snipers too, you know.”

Now that his little spectacle was done, Lance stood tall again, grinning smugly. “Sorry, but I’m not afraid of a literal walking trash can. I could shoot you dead in a second.”

Keith silently thanked the fact that they were back to a topic that wouldn’t make him implode from stifled sexual tension in the middle of a public place. He quirked a brow, seriously doubting that. “You’d never see me coming.” 

Lance grinned, and Keith realized his mistake too late. “ _No one can hide from my si_ —”

“Okay, enough with the accent!”

The barista laughed but complied. Within moments they’d devolved into an impassioned discussion about Overwatch, the coffee Keith had ordered completely forgotten as they compared favorite maps and debated the best and worst characters. 

Lance told him about how much he loved going up against enemy Widowmakers, testing his skills and using his wall-hacks at the same time so they could wave at each other from behind cover. 

He was also adamant that anytime he played Ana, his second most played hero, the entire round was spent talking in a granny voice and calling his entire team “whippersnappers.” Keith could picture it with startling clarity. 

In turn, Keith told him about how his favorite thing was killing enemy Widowmakers by reflecting their headshots back at them, and Lance loudly lamented his cruelty. He also told Lance about his favorite Dragonblades—both the successful ones and epic failures. 

“Wait, wait,” Lance struggled to catch his breath between peals of laughter. He was bent over the counter, one hand clutching the edge while his other arm pressed to his stomach. “You killed the entire team _through_ the Zenyatta ult? How the fuck?”

Keith wasn’t used to smiling this much. His cheeks throbbed in earnest now, but neither his grin nor the spark of satisfaction in his chest at impressing Lance seemed to be going anywhere anytime soon. 

“Yep. Our Ana biotic grenade-d them and nano-ed me, and Mercy was damage-boosting. The Zen didn’t even try to fight after, just looked at me before he turned around and floated off the cliff. He did the peace sign emote as he jumped, too.”

“Ohmygod.”

“I didn’t even get Play; Ana shot the Zen once on his way down and got the kill credit _and_ all the assists.”

Lance was wheezing at this point, so much that Keith was genuinely concerned he was about to topple over. “Oh man, that sounds like an Ana’s wet dream. And I would know.” He coughed a few times before managing to catch his breath. “We _have_ to recreate that. Granny and Genji: the Unstoppable Dream Team.” 

The statement was light, but the implication behind it was not. It caught Keith off guard, enough that when he sucked in his next breath it lodged in his throat. 

The opening was clear as day. They both played the same game: it would be so easy for Keith to casually ask Lance to play together sometime...wouldn’t it?

And yet, Keith’s throat closed up around the words. He was getting that feeling again: that feeling of everything being too much, too real. And right along with it broiled a plume of white-hot fear. 

He’d never admit it aloud, but, as much as he wanted to, Keith was terrified of stepping outside the boundaries of the bubble they’d created for themselves. Their morning ritual at Castle of Lions Café was unusual (not that that was a bad thing, no matter what Shiro said), but it was _theirs_. 

It gave him something to look forward to every morning, a reason to get out of bed when any other was sometimes so hard to find. It was comfortable. It was safe.

If they stepped outside it...what if Lance didn’t like what he saw? That _fluttering-squirming_ feeling in Keith’s chest only grew with each passing day; what would happen to it, to him, if Lance walked away? 

Keith swallowed hard, fingers clenching around his coffee cup as he tried to imagine that feeling, so confounding and frustrating at first but now something bright and beautiful, being ripped from him. He tried to imagine the hole it would leave in its wake, rivaling the long-scarred-over wounds left by his mother and father. 

His thoughts choked him. His heart raved and rioted and banged pots and pans, but no sound could escape his throat. Lance, who’d been looking at him expectantly as Keith silently lost his mind, slowly deflated, like a lightbulb on its last legs that finally sputtered out. 

No, no—that wasn’t what Keith wanted. He wanted Lance. His smiles, his laughter, his joy. Not this. 

He _knew_ what he wanted, so _why_ couldn’t he just—

It was both a blessing and a curse that Hunk chose that moment to bang through the storeroom doors. They parted and smacked against the walls with the hollow _ker-thunk_ of plastic on stone, startling Keith out of his downward spiral. 

He carried a massive box in both arms, tall enough that the top of his head was barely visible over it. He must’ve heard their conversation as he’d come out, because as he waddled between his coworkers who automatically cleared a path for him, he called Lance out like a scolding parent.

“Lance, are you trying to convince customers to play Overwatch with you again? Listen, you don’t wanna play with this guy, I promise, he’s—” 

Hunk dropped the box next to the drive-thru window, his sentence cutting off when he saw who Lance was talking to. His features opened into an easy grin, and he approached the counter as he wiped his hands on his apron. 

“Hey, Keiiiiiiii—” 

It barely left his lips before he froze on the syllable, belatedly realizing what he was about to say. All three of them stopped dead as Hunk quickly backtracked, his eyes bugging impossibly wide.

“ _Iiiiiiiii_ mean, uh, h-hey _man!_ Hey, great to see you, it’s so crazy to see you here, right? Yeah, so, uh, sorry I missed you yesterday! But hey, here you are today, which is great, so...what were you guys talking about? You were talking about Overwatch? Great, lets continue talking about that and not read into anything else that I said at all, okay? Okay, great!”

Hunk rambled on and on, panic mounting by the second. Keith let out a long sigh, raising a hand and smacking his own forehead. 

Well, at least Hunk had caught himself in time. But honestly, even if he hadn’t, that would have been the least of their problems. 

They were both so dead. 

Lance slowly turned on his heel, gaping at his friend with shock and betrayal that surpassed anything Keith had seen since he started coming to Castle of Lions Café. Hunk’s attempted recovery was painful to watch as it was, but it was made doubly so by the fact that Lance’s jaw dropped more by the second. 

Hunk was in for unprecedented levels of shit. Which, Keith knew, would be turned on him the second Lance finished with his coworker. Unable to do anything else, Keith leaned against the counter and braced himself for the impending explosion. He really wished Lance had already given him his coffee; who the hell knew how long these two would be at it. 

Despite it all, Keith huffed out a soft laugh. Castle of Lions Café _really_ should advertise coffee and a show.

A long, tense silence passed between the trio once Hunk finally fell silent. Lance gawked so hard his jaw nearly unhinged. Emotions flew across his face, painting his expression in an array of righteous fury and infusing his eyes with frenzy. His shoulders hiked up to his ears, slowly processing what he’d just heard.

Hunk peered warily down at Lance as if he were a bomb about to go off—which was probably an accurate fear. Lance’s eyes smoldered like blue fire. It was actually pretty hot, but that said, Keith was glad it wasn’t aimed at him. 

Finally Lance’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. 

“Hunk.” The word was strained, escaping between the gritted teeth of his very wide, very forced smile. “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

The question made Hunk shift on his feet. The big guy suddenly looked very small, hunching into himself as if taking up less space would help him avoid a Lance-level meltdown. His eyes found Keith’s over the top of Lance’s head, wide and pleading, but Keith just shrugged. 

Even if there was something he could do to appease Lance, there was no way he was getting in the middle of that. 

Hunk’s lips twitched into an almost smile, like he understood. 

Then Lance burst. 

“ _YOU KNOW HIS NAME?!_ ” 

His shriek broke the fucking sound barrier. The windows at the front of the shop keened in protest and Keith flinched at the volume of it, having to consciously resist covering his ears. 

It was only made worse when Hunk started shouting back. 

“I’m sorry!”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU, DUDE!”

“I’m sorry!”

“HOW COULD YOU NOT AT LEAST TELL ME THAT YOU KNOW IT?!”

“I’M SORRY!”

“Lance! Hunk!”

A familiar accent sliced through the feedback loop of unnecessary noise. Instead of smooth velvet, though, Allura’s voice was sharp as a blade. Keith’s spine straightened involuntarily. 

Both workers instantly fell silent. Hunk, at least, had the good grace to look regretful as he peered over at Allura, who’d poked her head out of the back hallway at the commotion, but Lance just threw up his arms. 

“No! Nu-uh! I am not just letting you off the hook because Allura said so! You _betrayed me_ , dude!”

Hunk’s hands flailed uselessly. “He came in on Wednesday and we were just talking! I didn’t mean to—”

“You’ve known _for a week?!_ ”

Hunk blanched. He pointed a finger at the ceiling and opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and Lance took advantage of his silence to continue making an Oscar-worthy scene.

The longer it went on, the more guilty Keith felt over the whole ordeal. He hadn’t actually intended to let Hunk in on the secret, but it was still basically his fault that Hunk was getting screamed at in the middle of his workplace.

His sigh was so heavy that it dragged his posture down. At the tail end of it he took a steeling breath and stepped forward, unable to stand there any longer without intervening even though he felt like he was stepping up for his own execution.

“ _Lance_.”

Allura’s voice cut him off before he could speak and he jolted, turning to find her standing right behind him. Combined with her height, her crossed arms and etched frown were incredibly imposing. Her bright eyes flashed, multifaceted colors hardening into slates of opalescent steel. To her credit, she didn’t look _surprised_ at the situation at all, only disapproving. 

When she spoke, her tone brokered no room for argument. “We have _other customers_.”

Sure enough, the few populated tables were staring at the three of them with wide-eyed interest. Keith felt a flush heating the tips of his ears despite not really having _done_ anything, and struggled not to shrink next to Allura’s commanding presence. 

Hunk had similarly deflated, but Lance was still wound tight, face frozen mid-shout and staring at Allura with eyes that churned like whirlpools. His boss remained firm, though, and Keith witnessed their second completely silent conversation composed of Lance’s face wildly racing between expressions, and Allura’s never changing once.

“But—!” Lance stuttered when he snapped out of the spell of Allura’s glare. He gestured wildly at Hunk, who winced. “He _knows!_ ” 

Allura sighed tightly. Keith saw her brow twitch. “While I realize this must be rather...traumatic for you, traumatizing our customers in turn will not help the matter. Now _please_. I trust you’ll _contain yourself_.”

The words were not a suggestion. The bite of Allura’s tone implied that any who dared defy it may get bitten themselves. As she spun around and stalked back to her office, Keith momentarily saw a regal queen sweeping through her castle. 

Suddenly the shop name made a lot more sense.

Time seemed to stop after Allura’s departure. Ever so slowly the conversations of the other patrons started up again, though Keith was fairly sure everyone in the shop glanced their way at staggered intervals. Keith felt thoroughly scolded and humiliated despite not having endured any of Allura’s wrath. 

Which brought his gaze back to Lance. 

Only now did he look at all abashed, the tight press of his lips and wide set of his eyes betraying the embarrassment that lurked beneath his indignation. He resembled a child who’d just gotten shouted at by his mom and told to sit in timeout. 

He looked like he was waging an internal battle over whether or not to unleash the rest of his tantrum. Keith and Hunk both angled away from him, watching him warily. 

Finally, though, Lance groaned long and loud, and all at once fell forward to flop against the counter, like his bones had just been cut from their puppet strings. His chest and forehead hit the countertop with worrying smacks, and Keith winced. Hunk met his eyes and they shared a concerned look over their friend’s prone form. 

Keith offered Hunk an apologetic frown, but Hunk just shrugged, as if he’d been expecting this to happen all along. He edged forward. “Lance?”

For a long moment only silence answered them. Then, “Lance is dead,” Lance informed them, voice muffled and face obscured by his wild hair. “This kills the man. I can’t survive this level of betrayal.”

“Lance, we didn’t mean to—”

Hunk tried to explain but Lance cut him off with another pointed groan. This happened a few more times before the big guy sighed, clasping his hands together and pulling out his own pretty impressive puppy dog eyes, complete with pouting noises. 

“Aww, Lance, come on,” Hunk pleaded, nudging his friend’s shoulder. “You’re not really mad, are you?”

Lance’s response came in a sigh so heavy that a patch of condensation formed beneath his smushed face. Keith glanced at Hunk, and the big guy offered him a strained smile and one-shouldered shrug. 

It looked like it took a great deal of effort for Lance to raise his head. When he did, though, Keith was relieved to see that his expression had melted into a more lighthearted pout. 

“Man, I can’t be mad at you,” he mumbled, and Hunk lit up, scooping Lance up into a crushing hug as he laughed. 

“Thanks man,” Hunk said sincerely, chuckling when Lance’s answer came in the form of a crushed squeak. Keith watched the scene with a mixture of reverence and envy.

Lance sucked in dramatic gasps of air when Hunk finally set him down, stretching until his back popped and he made a pleased sound. “Yeah, yeah. You so owe me, though.”

Hunk nodded vigorously, raising a hand while the other pressed to his chest, as if he was swearing a solemn oath. Somehow Keith didn’t doubt that he was. “Best bro’s honor.”

Lance’s eyes twinkled, a wicked grin splitting his face. The sight of it made Hunk shudder, and Keith snorted at the memory of the last time he’d seen Lance get that look. 

Lance leaned in closer to Hunk, batting his eyes innocently. “Sooo next time Pidge is on the warpath, you’ll cover for me?”

The big guy visibly deflated, the cheer on his face souring with regret and hesitation, but Lance just stared expectantly until he gave a weak smile. 

“Just...please don’t do anything she’ll kill me for, okay?”

“Oh, _of course_ not,” Lance assured, a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Keith didn’t trust that gleam in his eye for a second, but hey, he wasn’t the one who had to. 

Which led him to a very pressing thought. 

“What about me?” Keith questioned. 

Blue eyes slid to regard him sideways. Seeming to sense that it would be best to leave them to resolve this on their own, Hunk quickly excused himself and fled down the back hallway before he could get into any deeper shit, moving so fast that his apron flapped in the wind. 

Keith was grateful for it. He hid it well, but there was worry festering in his gut, thick and corrosive as Lance hummed, regarding Keith with a face of deep contemplation, brows scrunched and mouth pressed. 

Given what he’d seen from Lance over the past week, Keith was about 90% sure that it was just for show, but at the same time, with Lance, one could never be sure. He was apparently upset enough to mouth off at Allura, which Keith was sure didn’t bode well. 

Then again, Keith wasn’t exactly known for boundless optimism. It was another of Shiro’s so-called “virtues” that he distinctly lacked. It had never been his intention to upset Lance, but he prepared for the possibility anyway, crossing his arms over his chest as makeshift armor. 

He felt like he was hanging off the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if when Lance extended his hand, it would be to push him over or help him back from the brink. 

Gorgeous blue eyes squinted at him, pinning him where he stood. “I dunno, man,” Lance said. “You’ve corrupted sweet, innocent Hunk. That’s a serious crime.” 

“It was an accident.” 

He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out soft, almost imploring, but there it was. Lance faltered slightly, but it didn’t ease the anxiousness that twisted his insides into knots. 

“He introduced himself first and it just came out. I didn’t tell him to upset you,” Keith continued, making his case while he had the chance. 

For a long moment the barista simply considered him. Keith, for his part, tried his damnedest not to fidget under that stare. His brain kicked into overtime, playing out every possible way that Lance could react, from laughing it off to shunning him forever. 

‘ _It was only a matter of time before you fucked this up_ ,’ his thoughts whispered helpfully, doing nothing to keep his agitation from showing. He beat those thoughts back into their cage before they could wind him up further and held Lance’s eyes, trying to communicate his sincerity. 

“I might forgive you,” Lance started, “ _if_ you spill everything you told Shiro about me.”

Keith blinked. 

Yes, he’d had a feeling that Lance was far from done lording yesterday over his head. But he sure as hell hadn’t expected it to come back up after all _that_. Keith eyed the barista warily, unsure of whether or not it was a good sign. 

A few heartbeats after Lance’s demand came, a glimmer of mischief returned to his eyes, lightening his countenance, and all of Keith’s gut-wrenching worries rolled off his shoulders like raindrops. If Lance really had been upset with him, he wouldn’t have turned things back to that subject with such blasé. He felt himself finally relax, scoffing at Lance’s stipulation.

“No way.” 

“ _Aha!_ ” Lance pointed a finger at him, grin bordering on maniacal. It was such a sudden contrast from a few moments ago that Keith’s heart got whiplash. “I knew it! You totally gushed all kinds of embarrassing stuff about me, didn’t you?” 

Lance leaned forward to assume his usual position with his elbows on the counter, cupping his chin in his cheeks and fluttering his lashes. “Probably all about how I’m irresistible and charming and devilishly handsome.”

Keith suppressed a smile. Yeah, that had been pretty much it.

“Your words, not mine.”

“We all know it. It’s okay, man, you can say it.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

If there was one thing Keith was good at, it was being stubborn. He could stand in the path of a charging bull and make it go around him with sheer stubbornness of will. Lance’s pleading look was at least twice as deadly, but Keith had a thick skin. 

Lance wasn’t getting anything out of him.

But apparently he didn’t need to. The barista’s grin only brightened, and Keith was sure it would never cease to dazzle him. 

“Fine, fine,” Lance raised a placating hand, the other pillowing his cheek. “Your silence says enough, anyway.” 

Keith rolled his eyes, the gesture undermined with fondness. “Think what you want, Lance.” 

With normalcy restored for the moment, Lance was quick to _finally_ make Keith’s drink. It only took him a minute to whip up, moving quickly and confidently between the motions, practiced and precise. Keith watched him work, his attention lingering on Lance’s hands. 

He’d never really thought about hands as being attractive before, but somehow Lance’s managed to be. They looked bigger than Keith’s, and a great deal softer too, lacking Keith’s rough patches and callouses. He wondered how it would feel to hold Lance’s hands between his own, to slot their fingers together like he so desperately wanted to. 

When Lance snapped the top onto his drink, instead of handing it over, his fingers continued to toy with the lid, drumming lightly on the side of the cup, fidgeting. Surprised, Keith’s eyes trailed to his wrists, up his arms and further to catch Lance’s gaze. 

The confidence that he wore like a second skin was suddenly absent, leaving the taller boy pulled into himself, shoulders curving inward and holding Keith’s drink close to his chest. Paired with the sideways glances he cast Keith’s way, it was enough to make his heart do a slow, disjointed roll.

Lance glanced at him, his tone mirroring the soft hopefulness that Keith’s had moments ago. “Sooo...Are we...gonna...talk? About that?”

Confusion pinched Keith’s brows. “I said it was an accident—”

“No, no not that,” Lance interrupted him. Keith tried to catch his gaze, but it darted around the shop, avoiding him. “You know, how you, uh, told Shiro about me.” 

Finally he looked Keith’s way, ocean blues flitting over his features as if afraid to catch his own. An odd feeling swelled in Keith’s chest, not quite the anxiety of a few minutes ago, but something equally as tight and uncomfortable. 

“Depends,” Keith conceded with a shrug. Lance didn’t respond, so he braced his crossed arms on the edge of the counter, trying to catch Lance’s eye. “Are we going to talk about how _you_ told your boss and all your coworkers about _me?_ ”

Lance winced at the suggestion “Touché.” 

His left hand increased its tapping on Keith’s coffee cup. Keith thought there might have been a pattern to the rhythm, but he couldn’t quite place it. Before he could think too hard on it, Lance abruptly looked down at the beverage, startling like he’d totally forgotten he was still holding on to it at all. 

“U-uh, here,” he said, clearing his throat, and slid the cup across the counter. 

Keith eyed it, reaching out to take it after a delay. “Thanks.” Lance hummed softly, shifting on his feet, and Keith unconsciously shifted in turn, set on edge by Lance’s sudden reservation. 

“Do you _want_ to talk about it?”

Lance startled, eyes whipping to meet Keith’s, but Keith just peered at him openly, curiously. When he’d thought Lance would bring up yesterday, he’d expected teasing and playful jabs and a whole lot of showboating. 

He hadn’t expected this...

Fear? Was that the right word? Something flickered in Lance’s eyes, but Keith couldn’t get a clear enough glimpse, like catching sight of a blurred shape on the ocean floor but unable to discern any details through the waves. There was something going on here, something driving Lance away from his usual self-assurance and into bashfulness. 

Lance considered the question before shaking his head, twirling his now empty hands dismissively. “No, no no, it’s fine, it’s nothing. There’s nothing to talk about. I just...”

He trailed off with a huff, tugging a hand through his hair. It looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t get the words out from behind his teeth. 

“No, it’s—it’s whatever. I mean, in that saying about fish in the sea I am _definitely_ a catch,” he forced a laugh, his smile stiffening at the corners. “But it’d be hard to compare with Shiro’s... _everything_ , so. I, uh, I hope it was all good things, Mullet.” 

Keith’s heart broke watching Lance try to bury himself beneath fake bravado. He smiled, but it was tight. He boasted, but it was hollow. There was a depreciating edge to Lance’s voice that Keith recognized from the day before. It manifested in the hike of his shoulders and how his fingers wouldn’t stay still. 

In all the times Keith had been in the shop, he’d only seen this happen a couple of times. Something about it tugged at the base of his heart, filling him with the undeniable fear that _he_ was somehow to blame for Lance’s moments of doubt. He’d wanted to say something the day before when he’d caught Lance’s depreciating tone, but with Shiro there, it hadn’t felt appropriate. 

There was no way in hell he was about to let it go again.

Keith’s expression was resolved, but his eyes went soft. He found Lance’s eyes and held them, even as the barista blinked at the shift in Keith’s expression, making sure Lance knew that he felt no doubts. No hesitation. No question as to the truth of what he was about to say. 

“There’s only good things to tell, Lance.” 

Lance startled, eyes widening and freezing mid-fidget. He looked so shocked over such a simple statement, and the thought struck him that maybe Lance went on about all his positive qualities all the time to try and convince himself that what he said was true. 

How someone like Lance could ever doubt himself was baffling; he never wanted Lance to question how amazing he was. That thought pierced straight through Keith’s heart and stayed there, festering and forcing more words from his mouth, direct but sincere.

Feelings might not be Keith’s forte, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t a professional at charging straight through the bullshit.

Keith leaned that much closer, aware that his expression had to be a new level of sappy but physically unable to wipe it away. “You are charming and handsome, and even more than that. Of course that’s what I told Shiro, and he saw it for himself when you met yesterday. Anyone with eyes could see that.”

The honeyed words that usually eluded him came surprisingly easy when he genuinely believed every word he said. As far as he was concerned, he was just stating simple facts that anyone and everyone could see. He couldn’t fathom anyone meeting Lance and not thinking as much. 

Man, when had he turned into such a sap? 

Wait, that was a stupid question: the second he’d met Lance, apparently. 

A moment of vulnerability was totally worth it to watch Lance’s face shift through every shade of red known to man. He looked like he was about to combust on the spot, and Keith couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him if he tried. 

“Really? _That’s_ what gets you so embarrassed?” 

A flustered sound burst from Lance’s mouth as he seemed to snap out of his embarrassed stupor. 

“I told you, I’m a romantic!”

Lance buried his face in his hands while Keith chuckled. He wanted to reach out, take those hands and pull them away from obscuring Lance’s adorable, petulant blush, but he resisted for Lance’s sake, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets instead. 

Lance whined into his palms, making Keith snort, and he glared between his fingers at the sound. 

“Yeah, well, you’re one to talk,” Lance grumbled, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. One hand dragged down his face to settle at the base of his neck while the other gestured accusingly at him. “You’re like—like—”

His arm continued to flail even when he cut off, mouth open and staring. It was like he’d lost the power to speak mid-sentence, throat working to try and grasp at words as his eyes flitted over Keith’s face.

Keith’s brows raised, feigning exasperation to hide the fact that he’d never been so impatient for someone to finish a sentence. 

“Yeah?”

If possible Lance’s cheeks flamed redder. He let out a string of halted, incomprehensible noises before huffing, smacking his hand down on the counter. 

“You’re like, the definition of stupidly attractive! And then like that’s not enough, you go and say things like _that_ so fucking easy and I just—I can’t!” 

With the way he raved on, one hand gripping the counter edge and the other raking up the back of his neck through his hair, making it stand on end every which way, Keith stood there half expecting Allura to reemerge and scold them some more. Even if she did, though, it wouldn’t be enough to dull the warm thrum that traveled through Keith’s veins, popping and filling him with pleasant tingles. He wasn’t really used to getting compliments as a general principle, but coming from Lance? They were twice as sweet.

“I can tone it down if you can’t handle it,” he teased, distinctly pleased with himself and unable to help it from showing. 

As always, Lance was quick to rebound. “No, no no no,” he insisted, wagging a finger. “First of all, that would be a horrible loss for everyone, so how dare you even suggest such a thing. Second, I guess that just means I’ll have to turn up the charm.” 

Keith’s brows shot into his hairline. “Turn up the—?”

“Boy,” Lance’s tone dropped as he fell into a casual stance against the counter, easy and comfortable like slipping on a favorite article of clothing, “are you a parking ticket? ‘Cause you’ve got _fine_ written all over you.”

“Oh my god,” Keith groaned. He suddenly regretted every word he’d ever said to lead him to this moment.

Lance’s grin stretched ear to ear, so wide that little dimples formed in each of his cheeks. “Are you a boxer? ‘Cause damn, you’re a knockout!”

“Lance, don’t—”

“Is there an airport nearby or is it my heart taking off?”

“Is this really your definition of charming?”

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do all day?”

“I—you _know_ what I do, Lance—”

“I must be in a museum, ‘cause you’re a work of art.”

Keith snorted. “That’s so cheesy. Why are you like this.” 

“Oh, oh, oh! Wait wait, I got the perfect one!” Lance bounced up and down in excitement, his grip on the counter making the pitchers by the sink rattle. “Is your name Google? ‘Cause you’re everything I’ve been searching for.”

Keith fought back against a smile, but could feel it forming anyway. He turned his head and covered his mouth with a hand, refusing to let Lance see that his god awful pickup lines were working in any capacity. The last thing anyone needed was for Lance to be encouraged to keep using them.

“Okay,” Keith said, snatching his drink up from where he’d set it on the counter, “that’s my cue to leave.”

He spun and hurried for the door, tugging away when Lance reached out to try and grab his arm and ignoring how his giggling filled the shop. 

“You can’t go now!” he gasped out between his laughter. “I haven’t finished charming your pants off! Mullet, wait!”

Damn it, how were these terrible lines actually getting to him? Keith could feel the giddiness welling up inside, making him feel too big for his skin. Lance was too charming for his own good, with his twinkling eyes and boyish smile and enthusiasm for making others happy.

He didn’t slow or look back, keeping his grin turned away from Lance’s sight as he left, merely throwing a half wave over his shoulder. “Go back to work, Lance!”

“Can I follow you out? My parents always told me to follow my dreams!”

Keith barreled through the shop door before Lance could see his ears turning red. His jubilant laughter followed him out onto the street and all the way to work, draping over him like a cloud of cheer that wouldn’t let his smile fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who mainly plays supports, I feel Lance's outrage on a spiritual level. xD Then again, I also can't play Genji for shit, so as much as good Genji's make me literally want to tear my hair out, I can also appreciate the skill involved. I also may or may not play far too much Widowmaker for my own good, so (SHRUG) I am guilty on both fronts, haha. 
> 
> And now the links, as promised! Disclaimer: I do not own the video nor any of these images! 
> 
> [This is what Widowmaker looks like](https://d1u5p3l4wpay3k.cloudfront.net/overwatch_gamepedia/thumb/4/4c/Widowmaker-portrait.png/380px-Widowmaker-portrait.png?version=bbd956732d348d4941ff460e3e2f14f8), and is the outfit that Keith was imagining Lance in, haha. Lance could totally pull it off, though. No wonder Keith was dying. ;D
> 
> [This video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EjALxE3kNg) has the bow emote that's described in the chapter (at 1:16, if you want to skip right to it), as well as some of her voicelines (at 0:33) if you want to hear the French accent that Lance was horribly butchering, haha. 
> 
> And finally, the other two characters mentioned in passing in this chapter: [Ana](https://d1u5p3l4wpay3k.cloudfront.net/overwatch_gamepedia/7/76/Ana.png) and [Genji!](https://d1u5p3l4wpay3k.cloudfront.net/overwatch_gamepedia/thumb/d/d8/Genji-portrait.png/322px-Genji-portrait.png?version=284e7c2c19f78860c219f62dfc178ab1)
> 
> I headcanon that Lance plays about 70% Widow to 30% Ana, and Keith's mains are a mix of Genji, Doomfist, and [Reaper](https://d1u5p3l4wpay3k.cloudfront.net/overwatch_gamepedia/thumb/7/74/Reaper-portrait.png/272px-Reaper-portrait.png?version=950d03add54777aeedf41392feb6897b). The first two because they have melee/close-range combat proficiencies like he does canonically, and the latter because, well, c'mon, how could Keith _not_ play Reaper. xD 
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	8. The Golden Rule of Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith has an epiphany (a.k.a. rediscovers his common sense).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday again, guys, which means it's time for The Bro Talk™ 2.0! xD We're getting close to the end here, so thank goodness we can count on the purest cinnamon roll that is Hunk to talk some sense into these boys before it's too late, haha. 
> 
> Also, I totally forgot I wanted to say this in the end notes of yesterday's chapter, so I figured I would just put it here. 
> 
> A fun fact about how I write fanfic: I have _so many_ ideas that it'd be pretty much impossible for me to write them all??? So the fic ideas that I _do_ end up writing more often than not happen because somewhere along the way of spewing an endless stream of plot bunnies into a word document, I'll eventually get struck with ONE IDEA in particular that I like so much that I cave and say "fUCK IT OKAY I'LL WRITE THE DAMN THING."
> 
> For _this_ fic, that One Idea™ was Lance's little show of posing and talking like Widowmaker in the last chapter. xD I loved all my other ideas for the fic, too, of course, but my Overwatch-obsessed ass came up with that and went FUCK YES and then there was no turning back, haha. 
> 
> So thank you, Lance, for being such an adorable fucking dork, haha. And thank all of you for your continued support and kind words! <3

At this point coming to Castle of Lions Café was such an engrained habit that Keith wasn’t sure he could consciously decide not to show up if he tried. 

Another Wednesday morning meant that Lance wouldn’t be there, but even though he knew as much, his feet carried him along the familiar route automatically when he left his apartment. If nothing else he figured it’d be better not to test how well he’d function after getting into the habit of a daily dose of caffeine. 

“Keith!”

He was so accustomed to Lance’s voice that hearing _Hunk_ call him out as soon as he walked into the shop completely threw him off.

The big guy waved him inside with the towel he held before whipping it over his shoulder. “I’m so glad you came in today, man, I gotta talk to you.”

The statement made Keith hesitate just inside the doorway, but a handful of customers came in after him and effectively crowded him further inside. Glaring at them and rolling his shoulders, he offered Hunk a terse nod before approaching the register. 

He ordered and quickly moved aside, valiantly ignoring the irrational thoughts screaming at him ‘YOU FUCKED UP, YOU PISSED OFF THE BEST FRIEND AND NOW YOU’RE DONE FOR.’ Lance hadn’t actually been upset after yesterday’s secret slip, so Keith was fairly certain that he hadn’t done anything to incur Hunk’s wrath. That said, he’d long since learned that his irrational negativity didn’t listen to practical things like logic or reasoning. 

Keith quirked a brow as he leaned against the pick-up side of the counter. Anxiousness pinched his features as he watched Hunk make his cold brew. He finished in record time, sliding the cup across the counter to him. Keith offered a curt “thank you,” but his restlessness churned his stomach enough that he didn’t dare indulge before hearing what Hunk had to say.

After Keith’s drink was done, Hunk started on the string of orders that had come in after. He moved smoothly and efficiently despite watching Keith out the corner of his eye.

“Alright, listen,” Hunk began, only to pause when he shoved a pitcher of milk under the steamer. He pulled the lever and the machine hissed and fizzed, forcing him to wait until it was finished to continue. “I’m gonna be straight with you: Lance is _dying_ , man, you have to do something.”

The words shot a bullet hole straight through the glass of Keith’s calm facade. His whole body jerked, panic clawing up his throat, as he took up a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter. 

“What happened? Is Lance okay? What—”

“No, no, not like that,” Hunk talked over him. “Not _actually_ dying, dude, calm down. Lance is fine.” 

Keith let out a shaking breath. He was fairly sure that those tense three seconds had added a decade onto his life. 

Hunk chuckled, shaking his head. “But seriously, at this rate? That won’t be the case for long.”

Slowly deflating to lean a hip against the counter again, Keith willed his racing heart to calm. “What’s wrong?”

Hunk spared him a fond glance. “He’s killing himself over you.”

“ _Me?_ ”

Hunk’s statement slid across his brain lopsided, refusing to clarify into any logical shape that his thoughts could recognize. What had he done? He’d been coming in every morning, adhering to the routine that had become their normal. He hadn’t done anything different, anything that could upset the balance. 

Thankfully Hunk was quick to clarify, continuing on blissfully unaware of Keith’s confusion. “Like, the pining was bad to begin with, but now that he’s actually talked to you and gotten to know you and stuff?” Hunk shook his head, and Keith stared at him. “He wants to make a move on you _so badly_ , man. It’s a little bit pitiful, really.”

Keith’s jaw fell open. He was sure steam was about to come out of his ears as he struggled to comprehend the words, their implication slotting into place in disjointed order. 

“And he...won’t?” Keith finally managed. 

Hunk grunted an affirmative, finishing a pair of drinks and sliding them across the counter to waiting patrons. “I’ve tried to encourage him, but he just won’t! If you were literally anyone else he would’ve wrote his number on your cup ages ago, but, well, you’re not anyone else, so...” 

Exasperation and affection visibly warred on Hunk’s face. He glanced sidelong at Keith, somehow not spilling a drop even as he began mixing another drink without looking. 

“He’s worried he’ll mess it up by pushing you too hard. And I mean, I guess I get it? You haven’t even told him your name yet, so he doesn’t know what’s off limits and what’s not. So, yeah, he wants to, but he’s afraid to.”

This had to be a record for how quickly Keith was totally flabbergasted by a conversation. “Lance is worried _he’ll_ mess it up?” he exclaimed. Hunk gave him a wry smile.

“I know. I meant it when I said you’re both hopeless.”

“I can’t believe this,” Keith groaned. 

So at least he wasn’t alone in his worries about it all. He could appreciate that. He even allowed himself to bask in the relief of the knowledge for a few seconds, because solidarity is great and fuck anyone who ever said he never saw the silver lining. 

Too bad it made things _much_ harder if they both shared in the same worries. 

Keith tugged a hand through his hair, huffing out a long breath. “But he doesn’t think it’s weird?”

“Weird?” Hunk parroted, surprise slowing his precise movements for a moment. His brows disappeared behind his headband. “Pshhh, as if. Trust me, flirting is Lance’s favorite pastime, and I haven’t seen many people who can keep up with him half as well as you do.” A corner of Hunk’s mouth twitched into a smirk as he poured a completed coffee mixture into a pair of cups. “Although, to be fair, you could probably storm in here and yell at him and he’d swoon just as hard.”

Keith’s heart had to take a moment after that, staring down at the countertop as Hunk worked. He finished a large order, filling two four-cup carriers and handing them off to a frazzled business woman, and made quick work of the rest of the orders that had come in after Keith. Even if he hadn’t been busy stewing in his own thoughts, Keith wouldn’t have wanted to interrupt his flow. 

When he was done, Hunk started wiping down the drink station, following the routine naturally as if he’d been born to it. Dirtied equipment was deposited in their places to be washed, and the machines were wiped down in record time. 

Eventually he let out a laugh, and Keith looked up to find Hunk watching him brood. Keith tried to scowl, but Hunk’s expression exuded the soft affection of someone who genuinely cared, and it sapped any venom from Keith’s in turn. 

“It’s just, he wants more than the flirting too, you know?” Wetting the towel over his shoulder at the sink, Hunk walked back over and began wiping down the counter. His motions were slower again, delayed by the thought he put into his words. “Lance is flirty with most people, so he can come off as being easy, like he doesn’t really care or something. But that’s totally not true. He would never lead anybody on if he’s not really interested. When he finds someone he likes, he’s serious about them.”

All at once Hunk stopped, the repetitious, circular motions of his rag against the counter halting as he side-eyed Keith. “You, uh....you’re serious about him too, right?”

“What?” Keith flinched, recoiling away from any insinuation otherwise. “Of course! I’m just—”

Words died on his tongue, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. 

Because Hunk _knew_. 

Hunk knew because Lance felt the same way. 

Like he might not be good enough if the two of them were out in the real world. Like if they dared step outside the glimmer and gold of this little square of a coffee shop, everything might suddenly be different—but not the kind of different he wanted. 

And fuck, did Keith _want_. Emotions battled in his chest, and his heart was caught in the tug-of-war.

' _Lance wanted more, too_.' 

A part of him couldn’t quite believe it. It was the part of him that drew back and growled whenever someone tried to get close, that had been beaten into a pessimistic, feral thing by the blows of one too many people in his life leaving him behind. Despite Hunk telling him point blank what Lance wanted, that bitter part of him still denied. It still hissed and yowled, doing everything it could to protect itself and Keith from the possibility that Hunk could be wrong.

Keith frowned, fists clenching so hard where they gripped his crossed arms that his knuckles went white and the leather of his jacket crackled in protest. There was something beneath that howling denial that nagged at him, a gentle caress of sound trying so hard to be heard over the din. Distracted as he was, it would’ve been easy enough for Keith to ignore, but...

That _fluttering-squirming_ feeling inside him reached out for that soft sound. It urged Keith to do the same, to _trust_ , and, for once, he forced the cynical, bitter voice back. 

He looked beyond its immediate condemnations of Hunk’s words. Shoved it all aside and listened to what the rest of his heart whispered, and that was all it took for the realization to break free from the clutches of his doubts and drape across his heart, a delicate kiss of truth. 

‘ _You know it’s true_.’

Keith’s breath caught as his heart swelled with a vengeance, filling with that goddamn _feeling_. It culminated and crashed through all of his barriers, and as soon as it did he realized just what it was: a deadly combination of longing and hope, building and building until it felt like there was nothing else left inside him, set into an untamable frenzy by the epiphany he’d just had. 

The worries that clung to his mind like thick tar were still there. Keith wasn’t sure he would ever be rid of them. But he could feel the knowledge of Lance’s reciprocated desire chipping away at them, breaking through the layers of caution tape and barbed wire that so easily warded everyone else away.

He thought back to the flash of sadness that had clouded Lance’s expression the day before, the dim of his brightness when Keith had swallowed down the urge to extend any kind of olive branch between them. 

He thought about how Lance lit up when he walked into the shop, like Keith was the fuel for the sun inside him. 

He thought about how Allura had instantly known who he was just from watching Lance look at him. 

He thought about how Shiro had been so sure that Lance liked him after a single meeting. How he’d encouraged Keith to just make a move, to stop overcomplicating things. 

Memories compounded on him, multiplying until he felt like he had a neon sign that read ‘IDIOT’ flashing on his forehead. 

Fucking hell. Shiro was right all along.

He was never going to live this down.

Keith cursed vehemently, dragging a hand down his face. Hunk startled, but then caught sight of his expression and let out a full-bellied laugh.

“I’m such an idiot,” Keith grumbled. “I should’ve done this the right way from the start.” 

“Don’t feel bad, man,” Hunk waved off his concern with a flail of his towel through the air. He gave the counter a few more swipes before stopping to cross his arms. 

“Allura and I weren’t kidding about how much he talks about you; you left an impression, obviously. Even before all...” he raised a hand enough to twirl in a vague circle, “ya know, this. And hey,” Hunk continued, grinning, “it was fun for the rest of us to watch, so, I think I speak for everyone here when I say thanks for that.” 

Keith could feel the heat coming from his cheeks, and it was absolutely _not_ helping him feel like less of a moron. He tried to keep it together, but his desperation bled into his eyes as he shot Hunk a pleading look. 

“What should I do?” he asked, hating himself as much as he hated how his distress made the words come out thin and fearful. 

Thankfully Hunk’s amusement was short-lived. He took Keith’s question seriously, rubbing his chin idly as he pondered, and Keith found himself understanding how he got to be Lance’s best friend. 

Despite how embarrassing the whole situation was, he didn’t feel like Hunk was making fun of him. The big guy had a way of being open and sincere, simply absorbing what was said and responding thoughtfully yet honestly. It was incredibly grounding, enough that Keith felt his blush diffusing simply because he knew that, in spite of it all, Hunk wasn’t judging him.

“Alright,” Hunk finally started, and Keith hung on his every word, “I was all for the teasing and the games at first. I’m not gonna deny that it was good to see Lance squirm for once, but we’ve established that he’s serious about you.” 

Hunk’s expression went soft and hard all at once; he leveled Keith with such an intense expression that Keith’s heart stilled. 

“If you’re just as serious about him, I think it’s time to just say it.”

And there it was: the “simple” solution to everything.

The suggestion shouldn’t have been Earth-shattering, and yet Keith’s stomach swooped like the ground had just dropped out from under him. It was the obvious way, but to him, it was more daunting than scaling a mountain or crossing a desert. 

Keith had never been good with words. How could he possibly _vocalize_ the _fluttering-squirming_ feeling? How did he open his mouth to voice what he felt without unleashing the torrent of butterflies he could feel in his gut? Just the thought made the swarm press against the base of his throat. He didn’t know if he’d choke or spill way more than he should if he tried to vocalize it, but whatever happened, he knew it would be bad. 

Hunk made it sound so easy, but he didn’t know how to _say it_. 

Which must have shown on his face, since Hunk hastily reassured him. 

“Or! Or,” Hunk cut into his racing thoughts, “there’s more than one option here, don’t panic. You could _do_ something instead? You know, show him? It doesn’t even matter _what_ you do, exactly, ‘cause when you make the first move he’ll know it’s okay, you know? Just...” 

Hunk let out a long sigh. The motion deflated his broad shoulders and the cheery shudders overtop his expression lowered, allowing Keith a glimpse of just how heavy a weight his concern for his friend was. “Just do what feels right.”

As quickly as it had come, however, the big guy’s somberness passed and he abruptly pointed a finger at him. Keith startled, blinking down at it. 

“And don’t kill yourself over it, alright?” he said, reaffirming the demand with another jab. “If you’re anything like Lance, you _will_ , and it _won’t_ help anything.”

With a final, loaded look, Hunk went back to his work, turning away and snatching up an assortment of dirty utensils. Keith stared at his retreating back, thoughts and jaw working. 

_Do what feels right_ , Hunk said, as if that clarified anything at all. Maybe the advice would’ve made sense to someone who had any idea what the fuck they were doing in this situation. 

Keith sighed heavily. He could feel his expression twisting and knew he was projecting ‘KEEP THE FUCK AWAY’ vibes, but couldn’t bring himself to care, even as a few other patrons gave him odd looks. He tried not to think about how an unsettlingly large number of those patrons had been in the shop every day the same as he had, and ignored how their looks bordered on _sympathetic_. 

Instead he glowered at his drink cup as if the answer he sought would materialize in the brown and white swirls of cream and coffee. He stood propped up against the pick-up counter, posture rigid and looking about ready to commit murder from how furiously his thoughts churned. 

Keith knew precious little about romance. He’d never had a serious relationship before, so he was essentially operating off of what he’d seen in movies and books and between couples from afar. 

In theory, that pitiful knowledge base should’ve prepared him well enough. He knew what people in movies and books and other, mushier couples would do. 

Flowers, chocolates, poems, lengthy proclamations of devotion; a full-length romantic comedy’s worth of clichés ricocheted around in his brain and only served to sour his grimace. 

That shit wasn’t _him_. He wasn’t sappy enough for flowers or melodramatic enough for the rest. It didn’t—

It didn’t feel right. 

Okay, maybe Hunk was on to something after all. But if none of that shit was _right_ , what _could_ he do? Keith tugged at his hair, drink completely forgotten on the countertop beside him. 

What would _Lance_ do?

‘ _If you were literally anyone else he would’ve wrote his number on your cup ages ago_.’

Oh. 

Now there was a thought.

A slow but steady smirk spread across Keith’s face, taking shape in tandem with an idea. It settled comfortably into the hollow of his chest, and he knew. 

“Hey, Hunk?”

The big guy glanced over from down the counter, raising a brow when he caught sight of Keith’s face. After a few minutes he made his way back over, expression expectant. 

“Do I wanna know what that look is for?” he asked, pretending to be wary, but the curve of his smile gave away his delight. 

Keith grinned, excitement and nerves kicking the swarm of butterflies into a frenzy. But this time it wasn’t choking or nauseating. It was happy and sure, mirrored in the gleam in his eyes. 

“I know what I’m going to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chances are that without Hunk, this fic would end in tears and heartbreak because neither of my ridiculous boys can get their shit together on their own (shakes head fondly) 
> 
> Another fun fact: my beta's initial comments on the first iteration of this chapter consisted of "KEITH IS TOO PATHETIC IN THIS CHAPTER, STOP WRITING HIM LIKE LANCE" and I just. Still don't know whether to think that's hilarious or be offended on my blue son's behalf. xD She was right regardless though, and I like this chapter much more after editing it for her suggestions, so another HUGE THANK YOU to my wonderful beta for all the help she gave me throughout the process of writing this thing. <3
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	9. A Mullet By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance has done his waiting, and it’s time for him to get his due of good things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE EVERYBODY, IT'S TIME FOR LANCE'S POV. The final two chapters of this fic will be from Lance's perspective, so to anyone who's been wondering how the blue boi has been faring through all of this, fear not! Your questions and prayers have been answered! xD 
> 
> I know I left you guys on a bit of a cliffhanger, though, so I'll hush up and let you get reading! ;3 Time to see what Keith has in store for his favorite barista~

“Sigh.”

Castle of Lions Café was quiet that morning, and not in the usual ‘it’s ungodly early so no one wants to speak to each other yet’ kind of way. They’d only had a handful of customers since they’d opened up an hour ago. 

Normally on slow days like this, Lance would have regretted bothering to get up so early when he wasn’t even needed. As of late, though, he’d had another reason to drag himself out of bed at ass o’clock in the morning. He couldn’t risk being late, after all. 

The past two weeks had been the most punctual of his year-long stint at Castle of Lions Café by far. Allura was probably thrilled. 

Lance, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to find his usual energy that morning. He’d been tasked with cleaning the glass of the pastry case, but after he’d emptied it, he’d only gotten in a few wipes before his body had physically rejected the task’s monotony and had shut down on him. 

Now he was propped up against said display, stomach and chest curved along its rounded shape and cheek pressed against the glass, giving an occasional, half-hearted swipe with his towel. He exhaled heavily, his breath causing a patch of fog to form on the glass in front of his face. 

“ _Sigh_.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lance,” Nyma huffed from the abandoned drive-thru. She looked up from her phone for the first time in twenty minutes to catch his eye, and he almost felt special. “You’re not even sighing, you’re just _saying_ the word ‘sigh.’” 

“Only because my poor heart is longing!” Lance cried, shamelessly cranking up the drama. He clutched a hand to his chest and threw his towel across his forehead. “You don’t understand, Nyma, I’m obligated to sigh a lot and stare dramatically into middle distance. Don’t blame me, blame the rules of romance.”

Nyma gave him a flat look that said ‘I’m absolutely blaming you,’ and Lance retaliated with his longest, loudest sigh yet. 

“Annoying everyone else isn’t going to make him get here faster,” she pointed out, as if he didn’t _know_ that, obviously. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try. “Your boyfriend will show up eventually, so spare us the theater act.”

It was a bit difficult with his face mashed into the glass, but Lance pouted at her as best he could. “C’mon, Nyma, you know he’s not my boyfriend and it would be super great if you wouldn’t rub it in!”

She rolled her eyes before they fell back to her phone. “Whatever. If you really want him to see you being such a sad sack, be my guest,” she shrugged. 

Lance stuck his tongue out at her and proceeded to dial it up that much further by shifting the towel over his entire face with a groan. 

Okay, yeah, he knew Nyma had a point. Lance wouldn’t let any customers see him like this most days. He was an expert at shoving his feelings down and hiding them behind a happy face, but today he’d woken up with the dark cloud of a pity party hanging over his head that he couldn’t seem to shake. Lance definitely didn’t want _him_ to see his sour mood, even if he was adorable when he worried. 

Lance didn’t want him to think it was his fault...even if it kinda sorta was. 

It wasn’t that Lance wasn’t excited to see him, don’t get him wrong! A shift at the shop wouldn’t be the same without him. 

But outside of those few minutes when he was actually there, when Lance could make him laugh and smile like they were the only people in the world, it was all too easy for the doubts to creep in. 

Beneath the dark shroud of the towel, Lance let his eyes drift closed. Immediately and unbidden, his mind’s eye conjured an image of his favorite, nameless regular customer. How he somehow made plain black t-shirts and dingy jeans look sexy. How his dark hair brushed his cheeks as he leaned forward while they talked, contrasting sharply against his pale skin. How those piercing violet eyes held him captive even from across the counter. 

What would those eyes be like with even less distance between them? If they were close enough for their breaths to mingle? For their lips to touch? 

Lance felt his cheeks heat as he tried and failed to stop his imagination from running off with that particular thought. Despite the fact that it was damp and smelled like coffee, he was immensely grateful for the towel over his face. Nyma had already caught him reduced to a blushing mess twice this week, and if it happened again she’d really never let him live it down.

He crossed his fingers that his blush wouldn’t make the water in the cloth boil. 

God, he’d really turned into a sap. Lance couldn’t even think about _him_ without turning into a pining schoolgirl. It was due to that fact that he’d realized just how much of a blessing and a curse it was to work with a bunch of his friends. 

On one hand, Hunk, Nyma, and Allura never hesitated to give him shit about his Definitely Not Boyfriend. Lance was used to being the butt of the joke, and even encouraged it most of the time, but even he could only handle so much humiliation. 

On the other hand, though, no matter how much shit they gave him, Hunk and Nyma always covered for Lance when his regular was there, and Allura never docked his pay for the time he spent flirting instead of working. 

They teased him, but they were always encouraging, especially Hunk. The big guy endured the brunt of Lance’s gushing, and he was always there to catch him when he swooned. They _wanted_ him to be happy, and Lance was grateful for their encouragement, both roundabout and overt. 

But he was beginning to question whether or not it even mattered. 

At this point he’d lost track of how many times he’d had to clamp his mouth closed around asking Mullet out. It seemed like every other moment the words would bubble up and clog his throat, and every time he was sure he’d choke if anything else tried to escape around them. 

With anyone else, Lance would’ve acted on his feelings ages ago. But with _him_...Lance was at a loss. He’d never felt such a strong attraction before, and yet he didn’t know what to _do_ with it.

Lance didn’t even know his _name_. 

The word’s absence was a physical void in his chest. He felt the reverberations of his heartbeat echo dully in the empty space, ringing with the sounds of doubt. If his beautiful, adorable, infuriating mystery of a Mullet wouldn’t even tell Lance his name, how serious could he be? 

Whenever they were together Lance felt full to bursting, like his heart was about to flutter into the stratosphere to join the expanse of stars twinkling in those violet eyes. 

Did he feel anything like that? 

Did he feel anything at all? 

Maybe Lance was overthinking it. Hunk had told him as much over the past couple days—in much nicer terms than Pidge, who wouldn’t stop openly lamenting his idiocy whenever the subject was brought up—and had assured him that of course Mullet was interested, he came to the shop every day, and had apparently been making eyes at Lance even before they’d started talking. 

Lance really wished he would’ve seen that when it was happening, but he’d been too busy making eyes back to notice. 

And sure, maybe Hunk was right. But was he willing to take that risk?

Lance liked what they had. When— _if_ —Mullet wanted more, he would say so. Lance was sure of it.

Until then, he would enjoy their morning routines filled with banter and smiles that made his heart constrict with how desperately he wanted more.

It would be enough. It would have to be. 

Huffing, Lance physically shook himself in an attempt to banish his funk. His negativity was getting bad enough that he was making _himself_ fed up; if he kept this up a real raincloud was bound to materialize over his head and drown him. 

Shrouded beneath the towel, Lance tried to work himself back into at least a moderately peppy mood before attempting to carry on with his shift. He closed his eyes again and just breathed, trying not to focus on the fears that banged pots and pans inside his skull.

Normally when he needed some Chill Time, he could lose himself in the soft drone of the coffee shop, could let the oddly soothing sounds bolster his spirits back to full, but that was always harder to do when it was slow. Currently there were only two customers in the shop. Their quiet conversation was little more than unintelligible murmurs that emanated out from where they were leaned in close to each other at a corner table, heads bent together and soft smiles playing at their mouths. 

Lance tried to tune into their voices, to decipher the words within the whispers, but he could only think of how the customers sat cozy and close, unable to help imagining himself in their stead, sitting with—

‘ _Nope, no, not going there again_ ,’ Lance scolded himself, shoving the thought aside before that damned generic pronoun could crack the void in his chest open any further.

Next he tried to let Allura’s playlist of background music distract him, but he’d heard the songs so many times he could probably play them just as well if someone handed him a violin. The classical tunes were intermingled with gentle, melodic humming that was just barely audible from the hallway that led to Allura’s office. 

It was enough to allow him a small smile. Even when she was busy back in her office, Allura’s presence always made Castle of Lions Café that much brighter. In that way she was a lot like— 

The supply room doors clattered open and mercifully severed his train of thought for him. Lance perked up and pulled the towel from his face, squinting against the light. 

Hunk came through the double doors with a smile in full force. Without a word he strode to Lance’s side and pulled him into a one-armed hug, and Lance was powerless not to smile back. 

“Were you pining again?” Hunk asked, and the disapproving note to his tone made Lance’s expression drop faster than a stone. 

“Like a fucking tree,” Nyma supplied before Lance could answer. He glowered over his shoulder, only for her to mock his pouting face. 

“No one asked you,” Lance grumbled, crossing his arms. 

“Aww, bro, don’t be like that.” Hunk shook him with the arm he had around his shoulders, and Lance _oofed_ as he was squished further into his friend’s side. “You know I can’t stand your sad eyes. Where’s your Lance Positivity?”

Lance saw his opening and jumped at it. 

“Locked away,” he lamented, collapsing his weight into Hunk’s side like a swooning damsel. “Only you, my best buddy and bro for life, can set it free by revealing to me the Name of Truth!”

Hunk was already shaking his head before Lance even finished. “Ohhhh no. I told you, I’m not saying anything.”

“But Huuuuunk!” Lance whined. No sooner had he pulled out his best puppy dog eyes did Hunk smack his free hand over his face to cover it up. Lance’s spluttering was muffled by Hunk’s fingers. “Augh—hey!”

Lance squirmed but somehow Hunk’s fingers gripped his cheeks like a vice. Hunk hummed a negative. “You guys are gonna get together any day now, and I am not getting on your future boyfriend’s bad side.”

Lance’s hands searched blindly before finding purchase on Hunk’s arm. He pinched at the juncture of his elbow until the big guy yelped and let go. Lance stumbled backwards, blinking oddly shaped spots from his eyes. 

“We’re _not_ dating,” Lance whined pathetically, scrubbing a hand across his face. He did his best to keep his dejection from shining through in his statement, but could hear that he fell short. Dramatic swooning and longing was one thing; divulging the real, growing ache in his heart was another. 

Keep up the happy. Don’t let the bad shit show. Lance was good at that. He put on his best suave persona to cover his slip up. 

“At least not yet,” he continued, leaning a hip against the counter and waving a dismissive hand. “Just you guys wait, Mystery Mullet won’t be able to resist all this much longer.”

He topped it off by gesturing grandly up the length of his body. A few moments of moderately uncomfortable silence passed before Nyma shattered it with a scoff. 

“Okay, I’m taking a break,” she deadpanned, dropping her phone into her apron. “Hunk, let me know when it’s safe to come back, mmkay?” 

She breezed past them without a second glance, rounding the counter and disappearing down the back hallway. Hunk hummed an affirmative, his gaze firmly on Lance, while Lance fluttered his fingers at her retreating back and did his best to ignore his friend’s attention. If the look the big guy gave him was any indication, his attempt at his usual peppiness was doing jack shit to disguise his melancholy. 

Once Nyma retreated Lance huffed, raising a hand to rub uncomfortably at the base of his throat as Hunk turned those big, understanding eyes on him. 

“I know you’re just saying that to sound like you’re okay, but you’re right, you know,” Hunk said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”

Lance tried to muster a smile, but he could only hold it for a moment before the expression dropped in tandem with his gaze falling to the floor. 

“I mean, he’s gotta want something more than this, right?” Lance muttered, words tight with the uncertainties that corroded his stomach like acid. “He’s gotta feel something more, too. After all this...I’m not just deluding myself, am I?” 

The words ached as they fell into the quiet of the shop, so uncertain. His fingers constricted around his neck, nails digging crescents into the thin skin.

Rejection was a pain with which he was all too familiar. Lance had been shot down more times in his life than he cared to count, but he was always quick to bounce back and move on. 

But this...this was something different. All those other times had been superficial, a passing fancy for a pretty face. This time...

Lance had _felt_ it as it grew. Every day it magnified, a pinprick of sunlight that spread until every inch of his heart was bathed in gold. It warmed him from within and he was sure that if the feeling grew much further, he would burst.

It was _incredible_. It was beautiful and real, and Lance couldn’t imagine having to douse it in the cold, dismal shadows of rejection. 

It _hurt_ how much Lance wanted to believe that he felt the same way, just as much as it hurt to think about what would happen if he didn’t. 

Hunk made a soft sound next to him, and before Lance could react he found himself encircled in one of Hunk’s magical hugs. Lance melted into it, resting his head on Hunk’s broad shoulder. If Hunk’s hugs could be bottled and sold, Lance was convinced that all the world’s problems would be instantly solved and no one would ever be unhappy again. It was literally impossible not to be happy when wrapped up in one of his huge bear hugs.

“Look,” Hunk said, his voice rumbling beneath Lance’s ear, “I might not know how he feels, but I do know _you_. I know how great a person you are, how much you have to give someone. I know he’d be crazy not to go after you, and I know _you’re_ too crazy to let him get away.” Hunk nudged the top of his head with his cheek. “There’s gotta be a reason he keeps coming back, and it’s definitely not the coffee. Literally all of us can tell that he likes you. So long as you keep being yourself, there’s no way he won’t want to date you for real.”

Lance sniffled, his friend’s earnest words tinging his cheeks a light shade of pink. What he could see of Hunk’s smile was genuine and grounding, and for the millionth time in his life he thanked his lucky stars that Hunk was his friend. 

“Aww, bro,” he muttered. Hunk pat him on the back. 

“Now no more being sad, okay? If you keep this up you’re gonna cry, and then _I’m_ gonna cry, and it’ll be a big mess by the time he gets here.”

Lance laughed weakly into Hunk’s collar. A best bro never let a best bro cry alone, and they both were serious train wrecks once they started blubbering.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he relented, patting Hunk’s shoulder in return. Hunk released him enough to hold him at arms length as he summoned his first real smile that morning. “Thanks, Hunk.”

“Of course, dude,” Hunk said easily, waving a hand. Before Lance could move away, though, Hunk started fluffing him up, a hand smoothing down his hair and brushing his shoulders like a parent about to send their kid to prom, and Lance squawked. 

“That’s what a wingman is for, right?” he chirped happily, relentless even as Lance tried to squirm away. 

“Dude, I’m good, I don’t—”

“Oh no, I heard you call me a crappy wingman last week, and I take personal offense to that. Now come here, you’ve got something on your face.”

To Lance’s horror, Hunk licked his thumb and moved towards him, and as much as he loved his friend, he’d be damned if he allowed that because _obviously_ that would be when Mullet walked in and that was _so not happening_. 

Letting out a yelp, Lance flung himself less than gracefully beneath his friend’s outstretched arm, scrubbing his face on his sleeve as he went for good measure. “Noooo, I do not need you to mother hen me, dude, I’m out!”

Hunk just laughed as he scurried past him and catapulted into the supply room with the hasty excuse of needing a clean towel for the display case.

The morning rush picked up after that, and Lance ended up forsaking his Windex and rag in favor of his much preferred job of ringing up customers. While most of the world abhorred customer service work, Lance loved it. He thrived on making people smile and brightening their day, and it showed in the easy chats he upheld with each customer as they ordered. 

He saw a few of the shop’s other regulars, including little Laura and her mother who stopped in for a special treat (“She kept her room clean for a whole week in a row.” “Barbie doesn’t like the toy box, but Megatron promised to protect her from the monsters”). Lance heaped on the praise and drew another flower in her hot chocolate, delighting in her amazement. 

Once they left Lance defaulted to his normal way of amusing himself while waiting for Mullet to show up: trying to guess his name. 

He conjured up every possibility he could think of and tried to match it to the face, but thus far it had gone expectedly poorly. At first he’d come up with literal dozens of “edgy” names, because for some ungodly reason that was really not good for his constitution, Lance could not shake the thought of Mullet as a Batman-level bad boy. And while the mental image still stood, Lance had quickly realized that those names never matched the other sides of him—his snappy, dry humor or his soft, exasperated smiles. 

After both Shiro and Hunk’s near slip-ups, he at least knew that it started with a C or K sound, but that really hadn’t narrowed it down as much as he’d hoped. No matter what he tried, nothing fit quite right, and he was beginning to suspect nothing would until he heard it from Mullet himself. 

At least with Hunk working next to him and his thoughts occupied with theorizing, Lance felt his good mood returning as the big, decorative clock on the wall ticked by the minutes, the anticipation of his favorite customer’s arrival a constant buzz in his veins that propelled him through his work. 

He was shoulders-deep in the display case when the bell above the door chimed.

Lance did his best to play it casual. He slid his eyes leisurely toward the entryway, firmly reminding himself that it might not be him, and yet, somehow, Lance knew before he ever caught sight of the familiar silhouette framed in the doorway, felt the air in the shop brighten and warm like a sixth sense. A smile overtook his face in an instant. 

Mullet strolled up to the counter with a brow raised, looking between Lance and the empty pastry case. Of course he would walk in when Lance was at his most ridiculous: he was literally wedged inside the open case up to his shoulders, twisted awkwardly to clean the underside of the curved glass, a towel in one hand that half hung in his face. 

But Lance was nothing if not resilient, and so he rolled with it flawlessly, dropping his towel so he could put his hands to his cheeks, flapping them like gills and pursing his lips into a fish face. 

It worked, much to his delight, and Mullet’s laughter filtered to him through the glass. Lance beamed, craning his neck to better admire the curve of his grin, so he saw it when that grin went crooked with mischief.

Lance lowered his hands in the same moment that Mullet reached out and rapped his knuckles on the glass, and the horrid sound shattered Lance’s joy with the force of thunder reverberating in his skull. 

He yelped and flailed hard enough to whack his elbow on the edge of the case’s opening, but the racket continued. “Stop, stop!” he shouted, struggling to cover his ears in the constrained space.

Mullet just snickered, drumming his fingers one more time, and Lance frantically extricated himself from the display case, stumbling backward and nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. 

Thankfully he managed to catch himself on the counter’s edge halfway to falling on his ass. He shot Mullet his best scowl as he straightened and primly brushed off his apron, but he could feel that the expression lacked the edge he’d been going for and blamed Mullet’s goddamn captivating laugh. 

By the time Lance met him at the register, that laugh had tapered off into a smug grin. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to tap the glass?” Lance pouted as he met those violet eyes. His brain immediately took to throwing out name guesses as soon as they were face to face. 

_Connor?_ it tacked on, desperate to fill in the blank that gaped at the end of his sentence like a ravine. Lance dismissed it. Nah, not right.

Mullet shrugged. “Yeah, but I never listened. Obviously.”

 _Chris?_ No, it couldn’t be something that common or Lance would literally lose his shit.

Lance scoffed. “Of course not. You know, your incredible hotness may excuse a lot of things—like the mullet, luckily for you—but even you can’t get away with that level of animal cruelty.”

Mullet blinked at him just as his brain caught up with his mouth. Internally Lance winced, hoping he wasn’t being too flirty too fast. He physically couldn’t stop himself sometimes, as wary as he was about pushing too hard. 

Thankfully he only had to worry for a moment before Mullet’s face went all soft the way Lance knew meant he was trying not to blush. 

“What _can_ I get away with?” he asked with a tilt of his head, his long bangs falling across his brow. Lance’s fingers itched with the urge to brush the strands away. He curled his hand into his apron instead.

“Stealing my heart, for one,” Lance countered without missing a beat, throwing in a wink and knowing that Mullet’s eye roll was basically a point added to his tally. 

“You know,” Lance went on as Mullet— _Carl?_ —reached into his back pocket and produced his worn leather wallet, “if I steal yours too, it’d be the perfect crime.”

Mullet— _Kyle?_ —groaned and pinned him with a look that was probably supposed to be exasperated, but Lance could see the underlying fondness. 

“It’s too early in the morning for your horrible lines, Lance.” 

Lance snatched the cash he was handed with a gasp. “That,” he tsked, “is a blatant lie. You, sir, just don’t know a good line when you hear it.”

“I don’t know any lines,” Mullet— _Kevin?_ —informed him as if that was something to gloat about. Lance raised a brow as he punched the usual order into the register, the motion accentuated by the _ding_ of the cash drawer popping open. 

“No way, that can’t be true.”

Mullet leveled him with his downright awe-inspiring deadpan. He didn’t need to say anything for Lance to get the message and be subsequently appalled.

He practically threw the money into the register, fluttering a hand after he closed the drawer. “C’mon, you gotta know at least one! I refuse to believe you don’t—and I refuse you your coffee until you tell me one.”

Mullet’s face did something complicated, freezing on the cusp between indignation and grim acceptance. “You can’t do that.”

“You can’t,” Hunk affirmed from the drink station, apparently listening, and Lance threw his arms wide. 

“Oh, come on, Hunk, you can’t deny me this!” He gestured at Mullet— _Cameron?_ No, that sounded like the love interest in a romance novel...not that Lance ever read those, nope, never—as a whine crept into his voice. “If he’s gonna give me shit, it’s only fair he proves he can do it better!”

Hunk idly swirled the beginnings of Mullet’s drink as he thought. “Yeah, okay, fair. But technically he’s right, you can’t deny him coffee that he already paid for.”

Damn Hunk and his logic. Mullet crossed his arms, expression oozing silent victory, and Lance grumbled to himself before huffing. 

“Well—fine! Just as well, there’s no way his lines would be as good as mine, anyway.” He pantomimed shining his nails on his shirt and flashed a dazzling smile. “I am the Come-On King.”

Mullet snorted—actually _snorted_ as he laughed, and it was too goddamn cute for Lance to handle. His brain briefly entertained an adorable name like _Cooper_ or _Clifford_ , and he fully blamed the latter on Mullet’s very flatteringly cropped, very red jacket. 

“Don’t ever say that again,” Mullet said, but the demand was pretty much negated by the smile playing at his lips. 

Lance’s grin morphed to match. That was what he’d hoped he would say. 

“Prove me wrong then,” Lance challenged, pitching his voice lower just to watch the subtle twitch of Mullet’s fingers where they gripped his arms. To top it off he made the universal ‘bring it on’ motion with his left hand, the other drumming lightly on the register’s keyboard. 

Mullet watched him for a long moment, and Lance could visibly see him weighing his options. Then, “I thought you were the Karaoke King?”

Lance gave an easy shrug. “Yeah, and? I can be the king of two things, and I _will_ be unless you think you can take the title.”

“Take him down, man!” Hunk urged from afar, ignoring Lance’s shout of “dude!” 

Mullet looked between them for a solid thirty seconds. His conflict was clear in the dance of his eyes, and Lance attempted to goad him as much as possible by exuding confidence. Really, though, his bravado was just a front; deep down, Lance knew that if Mullet actually did it, his heart would probably explode before he could even eat his own words.

He didn’t have time to ponder whether or not it would be worth it before Mullet heaved a long, put-upon sigh.

“Want to see a magic trick?”

Lance blinked, thrown by the change of subject, his hand faltering where he’d been examining his nails in a taunting gesture. 

“Uhhh...sure? But that’s not a—”

Before he could finish, Mullet— _Clark?_ No, he was definitely more of a Batman than a Superman—reached out and took his hand where it hovered in the air. The warmth of his fingers enveloping Lance’s own shot straight up his arm, his breath catching and mouth snapping shut.

Mullet held his eye unwaveringly, and even though Lance could tell he was trying to keep his expression neutral, a corner of his lips curved just so, dark eyes flashing with victory. 

“Isn’t this magical?” he asked, voice equally low, and combined with the gentle stroke of his thumb across Lance’s knuckles, it damn near made his heart stop. 

It couldn’t be healthy for his heart to skip this many beats, but no matter how hard he tried he was powerless to fix its rhythm. Instead he could do nothing but stand there and roast in the heat that rose to his cheeks. 

Lance couldn’t decide whether to be grateful or furious when Hunk broke the moment by fucking _applauding_. 

“I gotta say,” the big guy chuckled, “I didn’t know if you could do it, but man, well played. That was a one-hit KO right there.”

Finally snapping out of it, Lance scrambled to rearrange his facial expression, but judging from the grin Mullet flashed him, it was far too late to recover from this with any amount of dignity. 

It was totally worth it.

Clearing his throat, Lance willed his skin tone to return to normal, chin tucking down into his chest. “It wasn’t that good,” he muttered, barely halfhearted and not bothering to try for any different. Mullet was still holding his hand, thoroughly distracting him from playing it cool. 

“Mmhmm,” Mullet— _Killian?_ Considering he was about two seconds away from killing Lance with that look, it was a possibility—hummed, the two drawn out tones dripping with sarcasm. He made no move to separate their still joined hands, and Lance basked in it even as he pouted. 

It was short lived, though, thanks to Hunk finishing Mullet’s cold brew and sliding it across the counter. “Did I miss your name for today?” the big guy asked as he set the dirtied pitcher and mixing spoon in the sink. 

Mullet’s gaze flicked to him, then to Lance, then to their twined hands, before he released Lance’s digits with a feather-light squeeze. It was probably Lance’s eager imagination running off again, but he swore there was hesitation in the movement that mirrored his own. Lance fingers were immediately cold, and he shoved them into the pocket of his apron. 

Mullet sidestepped over to the pick-up side of the counter, taking up his drink as Lance helplessly followed after him. He took a long swallow and Lance had to keep himself from squinting because goddamn it he somehow made even _that_ look attractive. 

_Ken?_ The thought nearly made him scoff aloud. Ken _wished_ he was as hot as Mullet. 

“Nope,” he said once he’d lowered his beverage back to the counter. He offered Hunk a lingering look that Lance couldn’t quite decipher, and Lance quirked an expectant brow in rebuttal. Mullet hesitated for another moment, meeting Lance’s eye. 

“Harley Davidson.” 

He spoke the name almost deliberately, but Lance was too busy being flabbergasted to dwell on it. His jaw dropped. “Do you have a bike?” 

Mullet nodded. “I bought one after I started at the garage,” he explained with a shrug. “I always wanted one. I have two, now, but I’m still working on one of them. It’s not ready to use yet.”

“Oh man, that’s really cool,” Hunk grinned, eyes lighting up in interest. “Are you building it yourself or just fixing it up?”

“Fixing it,” Mullet affirmed, a quiet sort of pride shining in his smile. “Don’t have the money to build one from scratch. Someday, though.”

“Wait, wait,” Lance broke in. His brain was caught on the precipice of a deadly feedback loop, but he had to be sure before he let it swan dive off the fucking cliff. “But you do still have one? That you, like, you know...ride around?”

Mullet glanced at him. Had Lance not gotten so attuned to his facial expressions over the past two weeks, he may have missed the subtle tremor of a suppressed smirk in his lips as he met Lance’s eyes. But Lance did see it, and that combined with his answering nod crashed Lance’s brain wholly and completely, disastrous as a train smashing into a mountainside.

Hunk continued to chatter happily, asking questions about specifications and mechanics. Mullet seemed delighted to answer, which was great, because Lance got to watch his excited smile and passionate eyes as he talked about what he loved.

But, at the same time, it was also _just fucking great_ , because Lance was already having enough trouble functioning right now and he really didn’t need the additional strain on his heart. Lance’s thoughts and expression floundered, but at least the conversation kept Mullet distracted from catching how Lance was opening gaping. 

He was powerless to stop himself. In an instant he’d completely lost control over not only his mental functions, but his imagination as well. His brain flooded with images of Mullet astride a motorcycle, roaring through late-night streets, with wild, wind-swept hair and wilder eyes, and he felt it the exact moment that his face went crimson.

Because of course his brain couldn’t stop there. 

Nooo, of course his brain couldn’t just settle for the beautiful mental picture because it was _his_ brain, and his brain literally never settled at all. 

It had to add Lance into the scene, too, ‘cause what was even the point of a daydream if not to put himself into an impossible scenario? It conjured pictures of the two of them cruising through the city together, layered atop a painted sunset. It bombarded his heart with the question of how it would feel to wrap his arms around Mullet’s waist as they sped along, if Lance would be able to feel his laughter when they were pressed so close. 

A wave of heat shot through him and if he wasn’t already bright red, he sure as shit would be now. He felt like he’d been electrocuted old-school cartoon style and stood there blackened and charred, unable to move or think or do anything except blink dumbly and wonder how the fuck he was supposed to recover from that. 

_Of fucking course_ Mullet had a motorcycle. He wore the same pair of biker gloves almost every day! Now that he’d imagined the two together the association couldn’t have been more obvious, and Lance was torn between hating himself for missing out on the fantasy for so long and hating himself for finally realizing it _in front of the person he was actively fantasizing about_. 

He scrabbled to regain control of his steadily devolving thoughts, silently blessing Hunk for distracting Mullet while he lost his mind. 

Lance blinked back into the conversation just in time for Hunk to snap his fingers in remembrance. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I think I saw it once! It was a while back, and I think it was on the weekend, so Lance you wouldn’t have been here. I saw you pull up—it’s awesome! You’ve got the leather jacket and everything.” 

Mullet shrugged a shoulder under that very same leather jacket, not noticing how Hunk’s grin widened a bit too far. 

“I totally forgot I wanted to ask you: were those leather _pants_ too?” he asked, and Lance fucking _choked_. 

Wow, that was a thought he really shouldn’t entertain right now, no matter how much he wanted to. ‘ _Holy shit, Houston, add that to the fantasy archives, stat—no, no no, wait, still super in public, abort_ —’

“What?” Mullet jerked and his brows pulled together, though whether it was out of horror at the thought or surprise at Lance suddenly hacking up a lung was anyone’s guess. “No! No, they were probably my black jeans? Geez...” 

Mullet’s grumbling trailed off as he watched Lance thump a fist to his chest in an attempt to hasten his imminent death. He quirked a brow. 

“You okay?” he asked, and even though his voice said one thing, it didn’t match the knowing gleam in his eye. Through his spluttering Lance threw him a glare, his other hand waving him off. At least now he had an excuse for how red his face was. 

“Whoa there, buddy,” Hunk said, a note of concern in his tone as he pat his choking friend on the back. “Breathe, dude.”

It took a long moment, but Lance managed to wrangle that beast of a mental picture into a deep, dark, fully-in-the-gutter place in his mind for later revisiting, and he finally calmed. 

“I’m—I’m good— _great_ , actually,” Lance croaked, hunched over with a hand braced on his knee as he gulped in glorious, coffee-scented air. He raised a wobbly thumbs up. “No problemo.”

His friends both openly snickered at him as he replenished his aching lungs. Flicking his gaze up enough to catch Mullet’s eye, his blush only deepened at the smirk he wore that said he knew _exactly_ why Lance had just nearly keeled over. 

Breathing deep, Lance willed himself to move past the spectacle he’d just made with as much grace as was possible at this point, and he called upon his internal well of confidence as he straightened up.

“Sorry, sorry,” he tried. His voice came out thready, much to his dismay and the others’s amusement. He cleared his throat sharply, infusing his words with as much casual confidence as possible as he twirled a hand, “Choked on my own spit, you know how it goes.”

“Right,” Mullet hummed, still pinning him with that damn smirk, and Lance stuck his tongue out at him. 

A car horn blared from the drive-thru, then, startling them. Hunk stopped snickering enough to take care of it. 

“I got it,” he said, waving an assuring hand Lance’s way even though they both knew he’d had no intention of volunteering to do it himself. Lance hollered a “Wow, thanks bro, you’re the best, bro!” at his back before turning back around and planting his hands on his hips.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he said, shooting a look at Mullet that said ‘not another fucking word.’ “That’s really cool, man. Ya’ know, the whole motorcycle...thing. Cool, cool cool, very cool.” 

His nonchalance may have been fake, but that did nothing to affect the truth of his words. Mullet must’ve noticed as much, since his smile eased into something soft and sincere, and the expression immediately set off butterflies in Lance’s stomach. 

‘ _He only smiles like that when he’s around you_ ,’ his heart whispered. 

‘ _You’ve literally never seen him around anyone else_ ,’ his self-doubt snapped. 

“I’ve always wanted to ride one,” his dumb face said. 

Lance blurted the first thing that popped into his head just to shut up his internal bickering and wow, he really should walk around with his foot literally in his big fucking mouth.

Judging from how flat Tuesday’s ever-so-smooth suggestion had fallen, he immediately feared that the implications of what he’d just said would make Mullet withdraw. Mentally kicking himself, he scrambled to gloss over it before Mullet could react, trying to make it sound marginally less desperate than he felt. 

“Too bad Mamá would have a heart attack if I so much as thought about saving up for one.” He laughed a bit, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He tried for a smile, but the effort it took to lift each corner of his mouth was like trying to drag the twins out of a toy store. “Think I could pull off the bad boy biker look?”

Thankfully Mullet didn’t seem too put-off. Instead those sharp eyes gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, and Lance had to repress a shudder. 

“I think I’d have to see it to be sure,” he finally said, and something about his tone made Lance’s heart skip a beat. 

That...sounded like an invitation. Maybe it was Lance’s hopes projecting, but the way he’d said it, soft and private, laden with potential...

He said it like it was something he _wanted_ to see. Like it was something he wanted to experience for himself. 

Could that mean...?

‘ _He gave you an opening to ask him out_.’

The thought manifested in a flash of blinding hope, so small but so, so heavy, pricking insistently at his heart like the point of a needle. A bizarre pins-and-needles feeling erupted in his cheeks as his skin tried to decide between flushing and draining of color.

Delight and apprehension turned his chest cavity into a war zone, and Lance was dizzy with it. The butterflies living in his stomach surged and suddenly he felt like he might throw up if he dared open his mouth again. All the times he’d held himself back compounded on top of him and forced the air from his lungs. 

Just an hour ago he’d thought that he could be content with their morning banter. All his doubts, all his insecurities had convinced him, and yet it only took the smallest sliver of hope to shatter his thinly-built resolve.

He swallowed hard past the lump of nerves in his throat. Mullet peered at him curiously over the lid of his coffee as he took another drink. 

‘ _Just do it you coward!_ ’ 

His thoughts were screaming now, his mental voice sounding suspiciously like Pidge and desperate as if his life depended on him “just doing it.” 

Hell, maybe it did. Honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if he fucking dropped dead on the spot if he failed to take advantage of the golden opportunity being so graciously handed to him. Again.

A few customers entered the shop but Lance _couldn’t fucking speak_. They lined up at the counter, and he knew without looking that they were all eyeing him expectantly, but he only had eyes for the beautiful, nameless boy across from him. 

It had never felt like this with anyone else. That might be the most confounding part of it all. Lance was flirty by nature; it was practically a daily occurrence for him to ask someone out, but the words had never been this difficult to find. Words were the one thing that Lance never seemed to have a problem with, much to other people’s dismay. 

But _he_ had always been different. 

Lance was paralyzed by his stormy eyes and the “what ifs” they set off in his heart. The lines and teases that usually poured smooth as honey from his tongue cowered at the base of his throat like Icarus shying away from the sun.

Lance swallowed hard, free hand clenching in his apron beneath the cover of the counter. Yes, he was terrified. The fear was so potent that it seeped into his bones and tainted the “what ifs,” morphing their images into dozens of heartbreaking scenarios. 

But it was overwhelmed by the rest, by the possibilities that he so desperately wanted. 

If he really was Icarus, then he knew how this story ended. 

Even if it was the last thing Lance did, he had to at least _try_ to taste the sun. 

Even if he got rejected. Even if he crashed and burned and was left to pick up the pieces of his heart, he couldn’t stand _not knowing_ anymore. 

The desire and longing burned so hot that they threatened to incinerate him from the inside, and without an outlet, that burn scalded up his throat, torching the butterflies that clogged his lungs and stopped him from saying what he so desperately wanted to say. His pulse kicked into overdrive, and his palm grew sweaty where it still rested at the base of his neck.

He’d made up his mind, and once Lance made up his mind about something, nothing could possibly stop him. Not his insecurities. Not impatient customers. Not even the _really distractingly adorable_ lines that scrunched between Mullet’s brows as his mouth pulled into a frown. 

The bell chimed and another handful of customers joined the queue, and by now Mullet’s questioning gaze had shifted into concern. Lance took a deep, steeling breath, letting it out through his nose. He tried to draw on his confidence, but his usually bountiful spring had dried up. His chin tucked down as his shoulders hunched just so, but he forced his attention to stay firmly fixed on swirling violet. 

“Maybe...and this is only if you want to, so, ya’ know, it’s up to you, but...Maybe...we could go for a ride sometime? Together?”

The question fell into the space between them gracelessly, without flare or an ounce of his signature razzle-dazzle. It was quiet—it was only for _him_ , no one else deserved to hear it—but the weight behind it undercut the shop’s drone and sounded loud as canon fire in Lance’s ears. 

Even that was no match for the racket his heart kicked up. Mullet’s gorgeous galaxy eyes went wide, shock wresting his features. Jokes and backtracks sprung to Lance’s lips, but, in a herculean feat of self-control that Pidge and his Mamá wouldn’t have believed, he clamped his big mouth shut before a single sound could escape. 

It was out there now. No matter what Mullet’s answer was, there was no going back. 

As the two boys stood there, staring at each other across the counter, Lance wondered if this was what skydiving or some other daredevil sport felt like. His gut swooped and churned and he felt too big for his skin, like he would burst or pass out or both. 

Which was fucking unbearable, yeah, but it was also completely unfair in comparison to how Mullet fared. 

He was so still Lance could’ve mistaken him for a masterpiece in a museum. Well, maybe if he wasn’t gawking. Not that Lance frequented museums, but he was pretty sure most oil paintings and marble sculptures weren’t made with their mouths hanging open. The initial shock had frozen on his face, jaw open and brows in his hairline, and Lance questioned whether or not he was even breathing, but at least he didn’t look like Lance felt, like he was about to fly apart from the suspense. 

“ _Ahem_.”

It took a long moment and several repetitions of the sound to penetrate the spell between them. Once it did, though, Lance slowly, painfully detached his gaze from the only person in the world who mattered. He could practically hear his neck creaking with the strain. 

The man at the front of the line glared daggers once Lance made eye-contact. Lance, for his part, was a millisecond away from losing his shit because he finally worked up the nerve to ask Mullet out and _this asshole interrupted him are you fucking kidding_ —

“You gonna pay attention to your customers, buddy?” Mr. Fuck-You-and-Your-Love-Life griped. “Or do you not want my money?”

Now it was Lance’s turn to gape. He blinked a mile a minute, trying and failing to comprehend what the man said when his voice was definitely _not_ the only one that Lance wanted to hear right now. 

But then that voice—a little rough, and a little breathless, but so fucking perfect that it made his heart sing—rang out in a low chuckle, and it was like the clouds fucking parted. Lance heard birdsongs and angels, and was powerless to stop his eyes from following the sound even as Mr. Asshole prodded at him again. 

In the five seconds Lance had looked away Mullet had come back to life. The sharp shock on his features had melted into open affection, and the line of tension in his shoulders was gone. He nodded at the queue of restless customers, and the smile he gave liquefied Lance’s bones. 

“Heh, guess you better help them,” he said. “We can talk after.” There was a softness to his words despite his amusement, and Lance realized that they were a promise. 

‘ _Don’t_ ,’ his heart commanded, strongly enough to root him to the spot. But his brain reminded him how displeased Allura had been after Tuesday’s little—and totally not his fault!—shouting match with Hunk, and how much he really shouldn’t risk doing anything else to piss her off. 

Lance was frozen halfway between the pick-up counter and the register. Mr. Never-Had-a-Date-in-His-Life’s griping doubled. An impatient murmur travelled down the line of customers behind him. 

Lance looked desperately over at Hunk, but the big guy was frowning out at the person currently pulled up in the drive-thru and looked like he was getting yelled at, too. Mullet nodded, understanding.

A strained sound broke from Lance’s lips, somewhere on the spectrum of a groan and a whine. He smacked a hand to his forehead and raked it back into his hair, leveling Mullet with a frantic look. 

“ _Fucking_ —damn it, okay, look, I gotta take care of this,” Lance gestured at the line in front of the register, “so don’t go anywhere, just—just hold on, it’ll only take a minute—”

He didn’t even give Mullet time to answer before he raced down the counter, cursing under his breath and nearly skidding past the register in his haste. He barely caught himself before he wiped out right into the freshly cleaned display case. 

“Hi—hi, sorry, so sorry, what can I get for you?” His words tumbled out twice as fast as usual when he finally addressed the guy at the front of the line. He couldn’t find it in himself to summon his customer-service smile, instead red-faced and frantic. 

The guy actually _sneered_ at him. Clearly the whole ninety seconds Lance had made him wait was the deepest insult to his very existence. It was like Lance had personally took a shit on him and every member of his extended family from the sour look that twisted his already intense glare. He made an offended sound, and before he even opened his mouth again, the Hell-Customer alarms that Lance’s brain had developed as a defense mechanism since he’d started at Castle of Lions Café rang off the charts. 

Sure enough, Mr. Mad-Because-I’m-A-Forty-Year-Old-Virgin also turned out to be Mr. Holier-Than-Thou and spent the next five minutes lecturing him on just how rude he was for making his customers wait. Every second that dragged on popped one of the giddy bubbles in his veins with a needle of restless fury.

By the time the guy shut up long enough to order he’d kept the line waiting longer than Lance had, and an additional four people had entered and joined in. 

The groan Lance had been holding back broke free as his eyes closed. He gave himself a whole three seconds to curse the universe for making _this_ day at _this_ exact instant the busiest he’d seen all week, then steeled himself and launched into action. 

As much as people—namely his coworkers and Pidge—complained about his seemingly boundless reserves of energy, it sure as shit came in handy now. Lance worked like a man possessed, and really, he was: he was possessed by the promise he caught in those storm cloud eyes watching him from down the counter. 

He rang up everyone in record time and threw himself at the drink station. All at once Lance felt himself devolving from a human into a whirlwind of frenzied limbs, and although the distance physically pained him, he couldn’t help but think that the fact that Mullet had to move to the back of the shop to make room for the waiting crowd was probably for the best. 

A gaggle of teenage girls constituted the final third of the line, and, just because Lance was in a hurry, every one of their drinks was so complicated that each one took literal ages. It took a conscious effort for him to not wrinkle his nose as they specified gallons of sweetener be added to their already overly complicated coffees. Even he didn’t drink shit that convoluted, and that was saying something. 

He didn’t dare look at the clock, didn’t dare think about how much time Mullet could spare before leaving for work. Swallowing down the worry, he poured all of his focus into going as fast as possible, thoughts chanting in an endless cycle: ‘ _you’re almost there, almost, keep going, come on, you’re almost_ —’

“Lance!” 

Mullet’s voice carried over the chatter of the waiting crowd, and Lance whipped towards him so quickly that his feet tangled and he stumbled. Even through the near dozen people milling about the pick-up counter, Lance found him instantly. 

Mullet’s features were twisted as he looked down at his phone. When his eyes lifted, Lance’s heart sank in kind, dread coursing through him and freezing his whirlwind movements. Those gray-violet eyes swirled with frustration, remorse, and Lance knew what was coming. 

His understanding must’ve shown on his face, because Mullet’s grimace lifted into the ghost of an apologetic smile. He raised his phone and used it to gesture at the door. 

“I have to go, I can’t be late again!” he shouted, and all the hope that had built in Lance’s chest rushed out of him in a strangled breath. Lance could feel his expression cracking open as desperation pushed him a futile step forward, dropping the pitcher he held to reach a hand towards Mullet’s back as he turned towards the exit. 

“W-wait!” Lance called. He knew he was frantic, the single word frayed and pleading, but he didn’t care. Anything to keep him a moment longer, just a moment, that was all he needed. “It’ll only take another minute, I just—”

But Mullet didn’t stop. When he reached the door he paused with one hand on the handle, glancing back over his shoulder to find Lance’s gaze again, holding it so intensely that Lance’s heart stalled. 

Desperate pleas and protests clawed up the back of his throat, but they froze on the tip of his tongue, unable to escape when he was paralyzed by the regretful gleam in Mullet’s eyes. When he spoke again his voice was soft, but it penetrated the din like a blow straight to Lance’s heart.

“I’m sorry. We’ll talk about it later, okay?” 

Lance couldn’t breathe. His heart thundered with denial, beating frantically in the futile hope that pounding double-time would be enough to hold itself together. Before he could even begin to come to terms with what was happening, the door opened and the bell above it chimed, and Mullet was gone. 

A devastated sound built in at the base of his throat until it broke from him in a miserable whimper. He felt his hands trembling where they clutched the edge of the counter, and he struggled to hold himself together as he went through the stages of grief in the span of half a second. He stared longingly out the window even as the writing across it blurred. 

“Hey,” Hunk said, coming to stand next to him, and even though his voice was soft, Lance still startled. Hunk reached out to him, but Lance shook his head and shied away, pursing his lips and blinking rapidly until his vision cleared. 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, sniffing as he picked up the pitcher from where it had clattered across the counter. “Lets—lets just get this done, okay?”

He went back to work, motions sluggish and eyes downcast, and could feel Hunk watching him as they worked through the rest of the queue.

Ten insanely busy minutes later, when the sea in front of the pick-up counter had finally been cleared, Lance deflated. He let out a long groan as he threw himself facedown on the counter, doing his damnedest to bury his nose in the unyielding surface to hide the very real moisture gathering behind his eyes. 

He heard Hunk come up behind him, heard how he shifted on his feet before a hand landed on Lance’s back, rubbing small, soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Hunk tried. “Try not to be too upset—he’ll be back tomorrow.”

Lance could only utter a pathetic whine. Normally he would appreciate Hunk’s attempts at comfort, but the big guy had no idea what kind of opportunity had just been blown for him— _or_ how much it was going to physically pain him to have to wait until tomorrow to get Mullet’s answer. 

He’d been _so close_. Mullet hadn’t had the chance to confirm anything outright, but after the past two weeks, Lance thought— _hoped_ —he knew Mullet well enough to guess what his willingness to wait, his obvious hesitance to leave and regretful smile as he’d walked out the door had meant. 

Lance sniffled, and his voice came out wobbly.

“I’m gonna die before I ever get to ride his motorcycle.” 

Hunk just cooed at him, patting his back until he could coax him back to work. 

 

~~~

 

After Mullet had come and gone, Lance’s mornings tended to go one of two ways. 

Most days he spent the entire rest of his shift talking about every second of their last interaction to all his coworkers. He covered the full range of shouting, squealing, and every decibel-level in between until he barely fell short of Romeo on cocaine, spouting semi-coherent, rose-colored speeches about passion and destiny. 

No one was safe; every coworker who came in for their shift and every regular customer who had any inkling of what had been going on over the past two weeks would get an ear-full until Hunk came to their rescue and bodily dragged Lance away. 

The other baristas joked about getting the big guy an official “Lance Wrangler” T-shirt. Lance secretly hoped they did so he could steal it and wear it himself because he was Lance Fucking McClain and he could not be tamed. 

Then there were other days, rarer but growing more frequent as of late, where Mullet’s departure left Lance a sulking puddle of melancholy, drooping like a marionette severed from its strings. He would flop on everything and everyone that came too close and cling like a giant, gangly leech as he lamented his unfulfilled desire by belting out purposely off-key love ballads. 

Today, though, Lance’s mood was a confounding tangle of both. One second he was flopping around like a particularly sad dying fish, and the next he’d be vibrating out of his skin and flinging himself at the nearest person to jabber off fantasies about The Epic Romance of Mullet and Lance. 

All the baristas unanimously agreed that the whiplash was worse than either extreme, but Lance ignored his coworkers’s griping in favor of dealing with his own emotional frenzy. 

He could feel the minutes ticking by even though he was pointedly not watching the enormous clock that hung on the shop’s far wall. Even hours later he couldn’t get over how goddamn close he’d been, and that was _with_ the distraction of work to keep him busy. 

“Huuuuunk,” he groaned, mood dropping into sourness again. He trudged over to where his friend was cleaning one of the coffee machines and flopped into his side. The big guy didn’t bat an eye as Lance shoved his face into his shoulder. “Do I have to go home?”

Hunk paused. “Did you just ask to work more? Who are you and what have you done with Lance?”

“I’m sad and Pidge won’t give me any sympathy,” he pouted, looking up enough to hit Hunk with his puppy dog eyes. “You’re the only one who cares. Can’t I go to class with you or something?”

“Ahhh,” Hunk hissed, giving Lance an apologetic look, and he already knew what was coming before he said anything more. “Ordinarily I’d say yeah? But we’re having a review day today and last time you came with me, you turned review Jeopardy into an all out war.”

“Okay, but really, that was at least half the professor’s fault. Who even uses review Jeopardy outside of high school?”

Hunk chuckled. “Still, probably not the best idea. Just go home, Lance, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Pidge likes to mess with you, but she isn’t heartless.”

Lance gave a noncommittal grunt. After a few more moments of trying to continue cleaning while supporting Lance’s weight, Hunk huffed and shook his head. 

“Okay, c’mon,” he said, and that was all the warning Lance had before Hunk turned and scooped him off the ground. 

Lance yelped and flailed his arms, grabbing onto his friend’s shirt as he found himself suddenly flung over Hunk’s shoulder. He heard Nyma’s muttered “oh my god” and saw her roll her eyes as Hunk carried him out from behind the counter. 

“Hunk!” he squawked. “What the hell, man?”

“You weren’t moving!” he defended, as if that justified literally anything, walking towards the back hallway. 

Thankfully Hunk put him down with a bit more grace, making sure Lance was sound on his feet before releasing him and stepping away with his hands already raised in defense. Lance grumbled at him, brushing off the front of his apron in an attempt to appear like he had any remaining dignity. 

“Why don’t you go home and play Overwatch or something? Cheer yourself up?” Hunk suggested, and Lance groaned. 

“I have that paper to write.” A shudder traveled through him at the thought of what awaited him at the apartment he shared with Hunk and Pidge: a dining table covered with textbooks and research for the History essay he’d procrastinated starting. It would have been enough to make him dread going home any other day of the week, much less when he was already feeling down.

He also knew himself well enough to know that working on his essay wouldn’t do jack shit to distract his tumultuous emotions, and that, if he went home, he was more than likely doomed to a night of watching his favorite rom-coms while cursing the universe for turning his life into one. 

Hunk hummed, only looking mildly apologetic. “Oh yeah, you mean that one I tried to get you to write like a week ago but you were too busy playing Pokemon to work on it?”

Lance shot him a pathetic look. “Don’t rub it in, man, I thought you were my friend.”

“I am, but I’m also your voice of reason, and we both know it, and yet you still don’t listen to me.” 

Well, shit, Lance couldn’t really argue with that. 

Hunk made a shooing motion and Lance sighed, turning dejectedly on his heel and walking heavily down the hall, past Allura’s office and the small break room to the row of lockers where employees kept their stuff while they were on shift. 

He went through the motions of clocking out feeling like a physical blanket of gloom was draped over his shoulders. He threw his apron into his locker with more force than necessary, grabbing his wallet and jacket before slamming the door shut. 

The big clock struck 2 p.m. as he made his way back out front, the low, rumbling drum of its chime undercutting the shop’s background noise in a way that alerted customers without being annoying. He glanced around the main room and blinked. 

“Hey, Nyma? You see where Hunk went?” he asked when the big guy was nowhere to be seen. The girl in question just shrugged. 

“Dunno,” came her flat reply, not even bothering to glance up from her phone, and Lance sighed. 

“Real helpful,” he muttered, turning on his heel to check the break room. No matter how foul his mood, Lance wasn’t about to leave without saying goodbye to his best bro. 

He’d barely taken half a step before the door to Allura’s office opened, and, surprisingly, Hunk stepped out.

“Oh Lance, hey! Before you go, Allura just divvied up the morning’s tips!” he said, waving a white envelope over his head. “Looks like a good haul!”

The promise of money was just enough for Lance to perk up. Maybe he could avoid that essay after all and hit the arcade or something.

“Oh, sweet.” He strolled over and took the envelope. It wasn’t lost on him that Hunk’s grin seemed a touch too wide for the news; they must’ve gotten some really great tips to make him smile like _that_.

He tore the envelope open with a satisfying rip and eagerly pulled out the cash inside. Once he’d done so, however, revealing the usual sized stack of singles—not even any fives!—his felt his glimmer of hope extinguish like a blown out candle. 

“Uh, Hunk, unless Allura counted _way_ wrong, this is nothing to look that happy about.”

“Oh, I wasn’t wrong,” Allura assured as she emerged from her office as well, sweeping towards the two boys. The clacking of her heels matched in time with the shop’s music. “But neither is Hunk.” 

The two of them shared a knowing look and Lance’s brows raised, taking a step back in suspicion. 

“Oookay? What do you guys know that I don’t?”

“I don’t know, perhaps you should check the envelope again.” Allura tried for innocent but ended up firmly seated in amused, her grin growing to match Hunk’s. 

Immediately Lance scrambled to think of any pranks he’d pulled recently that whatever this was could be revenge for. He and Hunk had had a _talk_ after the photograph sharing incident, so they were all good! And, considering he’d literally given up his chance to maybe actually get with Mullet just to help a bunch of ungrateful customers, he sure as shit didn’t deserve anything from Allura. 

His normally bright eyes were guarded as he watched the two of them stand next to each other, their innocent grins so forced their faces were liable to split in half. 

Slowly, like approaching a wild animal, Lance stuck his hand back in the envelope, feeling around until he found and withdrew a small, folded slip of paper. His attention flicked back up to his friends, but they revealed nothing aside from Hunk practically bouncing in place. 

“I swear if I open this and it says I’m fired, I’m never talking to either of you again,” Lance threatened, tone flat. 

Allura just shook her head. “Just open it, Lance.”

His lips pursed and he huffed out his nose, but complied... 

Only for his jaw to drop open in the same moment his heart leapt into his throat, forcing a strangled gasp from his lungs. The paper scrap was covered with an unfamiliar, handwritten scrawl, the words slanting sharply to the right. 

_Call me when you want that ride._

_(909) 555 0199_

Time froze and Lance’s heart stopped along with it. Seconds dragged into minutes as he stood there, unmoving aside from the tremble of his fingers and the way his eyes repeatedly traced the lines of ink on the page. He barely dared to read further down, but when he finally gathered the courage, what he saw left him awestruck. 

“Is this...?” 

He couldn’t even get the question out for lack of air in his lungs. Thankfully his friends got the message, the both of them nodding emphatically. 

Five letters stared innocently up at him from beneath the phone number. 

The word that had eluded him for so long.

“Keith.”

He breathed the name like it was the answer to everything in the universe, and in that moment it was. It was only a single word, five simple letters that were meaningless on their own, but they tingled on Lance’s tongue like the fizzy bubbles of the finest champagne, with all the sweet silkiness to match.

He felt it as his shock gave way to the slowly growing curl of his smile. It stretched his face and hurt in its intensity, and it banished every hint of sadness that had been bogging him down since that morning. 

“ _Keith_ ,” he whispered. “Keith! His name is Keith!” 

His delight burst from him in a wordless exclamation of sheer joy. All at once he went from sad sack to exploding with movement as he danced around the shop, knowing he probably looked like an idiot but needing of some way to expel the giddiness that consumed every fiber of his being. 

“Oh man,” Hunk said through his grin, “that feels so good to get off my chest.”

Lance spun towards him, about five seconds from vibrating off the ground. “Shhh! Shush, don’t remind me of your betrayal, nothing can possibly ruin this moment because his name is _Keith_ and he gave me his _phone number!_ ”

...Oh. 

_Oh_. 

Just as quickly as it started, Lance’s dancing cut off as he belatedly absorbed that particular fact through his own excitement. He went rigid, arms freezing above his head midway through a cheer, and his smile cracked at the corners. 

“Holy crow. Hunk.”

“Lance?”

“Hunk, oh my god. _Hunk_. He gave me his _phone number_. He actually wants to take me out on his _motorcycle_.”

The realization repeated through his head in an incredible, moderately terrifying feedback loop. He was barely aware of the high-pitched whine that leaked from his lips, but he had just enough coherence left to stiffly waddle over to the nearest empty table before he crumbled, bending at the waist so he could thunk his head on the surface. 

Much to his mortification, the shop patrons took that moment to _applaud_ , wolf whistles splitting the air and drowning out Hunk’s chuckling. The tabletop sizzled from how red Lance’s face had gone. 

“Do try not to faint in my shop, Lance,” Allura tittered, any amount of scolding in the words themselves cancelled out by the giggle that followed. 

“Breathe, buddy,” Hunk consoled, dropping a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Even with the added weight, he still felt like he was seconds away from a pair of rockets growing from his feet and catapulting him into space. 

The mortification and volcano of nerves were no match for the grin that remained firmly in place hidden against the tabletop. He clutched the scrap of paper to his chest and felt his racing heart hammering against it. 

“Is it possible to die from happiness?” His voice came out wobbly, prompting Hunk to drape an arm across his shoulder and squeeze. 

“Nope, no way, after all that craziness? There is no way I’m letting you bite the dust before you go out with him once. It’s about time.” 

The words made something click in Lance’s memory. He jerked upright with an indignant sound, turning wide eyes onto his friend as he leapt away in alarm. 

“Hunk, did you _know about this?_ ” Lance accused, ignoring how Allura’s expression dropped into a frown at his raised volume. After all the betrayals he’d experienced over the past two weeks he really didn’t think he could handle any more, but there Hunk stood, looking sheepish and apologetic and _god fucking damn it_ how much more of this was Lance going to have to take?

“You let me be sad all day, Hunk! I can’t believe you!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to!” Hunk said, and at least he had the good grace to sound genuine. “Keith was so excited when he came up with an idea of how to tell you, I couldn’t ruin the surprise!”

Oh. Well. Fuck. 

Just like that all of Lance’s indignation sputtered out, and he physically deflated in the wake of its absence. Instead he was overcome with the image of Keith excitedly planning this moment with Hunk when he was gone the day before, and he went right back to being a blushing mess. 

Allura offered congratulations before heading back to her office, and the customers all turned back to their own conversations. Hunk stepped close to him again, nudging his shoulder with his own, and Lance barely registered any of it through the floaty feeling turning his brain to mush. 

“Just please wait until I get home tonight to call him, okay? I have to be there for this,” Hunk said, clapping a hand on his back. Lance was just about to agree, but then his giddy thoughts stalled long enough to snag on a very _particular_ idea. 

He glanced down at the phone number clutched close to his chest as an edge of slyness crept into his smile. 

“Oh, don’t worry. You won’t miss it.”

Hunk’s expression colored with confusion, but it was quickly overcome with exasperation. “Oh no. No, no no, why are you smiling like that? C’mon, Lance, you have his number now. Can’t you just make this easy for everyone?”

Pshhh, as if that was even a question. Lance stared reverently at the handwritten name for another long moment before nodding to himself. 

Decision made, he carefully folded the paper in half and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Instantly and irrationally he felt a rush of heat seep through the fabric and touch his heart and _wow_ , he was _seriously_ turning into a fucking sap. He should probably be at least a little alarmed by his steady devolution into a romance novel character, but considering the fact that all of his _wanting_ , all of his desires that were soft and blurred and tinged gold with fantasy had suddenly sharpened into real, tangible focus, he really couldn’t care less. 

“Don’t worry, man,” he gave an easy wave of his hand, the other pointedly patting his pocket. “I got it all under control.”

Hunk groaned and looked up to the sky like he was praying for patience. Lance shot him finger guns before spinning around and skipping out the shop. 

Stepping outside into the heat of the afternoon, Lance too turned his grin skyward. The sun beat down on him and filled him with warmth, but even that was no match for the _feeling_ blooming in his chest and lighting up every nerve, every sense, until he was dizzy and giddy and lighter than air. When he set off he bounced with every step, impossibly conscious of every shift of the paper pressed close to his heart. 

He finally had his chance, and Lance was going to do this right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOORAAAAAY THE BIG SECRET HAS FINALLY BEEN BLOWN (airhorns and fireworks in the distance). xD You guys have no idea how frustrating it was to write this chapter without being able to use Keith's name, haha. 
> 
> Keith was inspired by what Hunk said about Lance writing on his cup and figured he'd do the same sort of thing, just in reverse! He planned to put his name/number in the tip jar all along, figuring that it would be a day of flirting like any other and Lance would have The Best Surprise waiting for him when he got off work, but then Lance legit straight up asked him out and he was floored because OF COURSE they both managed to get their shit together on the same day, haha. He really was going to wait and talk with Lance after he helped the line, but it took so damn long and Coran texted asking where he was, so he decided to go with his original plan and snuck his number in the tip jar while Lance was distracted before he left. xD 
> 
> I entertained quite a few ways for Keith to finally put his big secret to rest, so I hope you all like what he chose! BUT OF COURSE--because, like the fic tags say, nothing can ever be easy with these two--NOW LANCE can't just do this the easy way. What am I gonna do with these bois, I tell ya. (shakes head) 
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/)


	10. Fucking Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pidge is all of us and everyone’s patience pays off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh gosh I knew I'd be emotional once this was over, but like??? GAH. I CAN'T. 
> 
> From the bottom of my heart, I want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to read this fic. All of your comments and kudos and positivity and support over the past two weeks have made this such an incredible experience! This is my first work in the Voltron fandom, and I can't say how thrilled I am at the positive reception its received! ;w; It means so much that you like my work, as well as my ridiculous, fluffy boys.
> 
> A final shoutout and thank you to my beta reader, as well as all my other friends who helped me with getting my ideas together and basically put up with me squealing about this fic at them for literally ever, haha. You guys are the actual best, this wouldn't have been possible without you!
> 
> Now, without further adieu, enjoy the end of my Coffee Shop AU! I had so much fun writing this, so I really hope that it gives you all even half as much joy as it gave me. <3

“Pidge, put that away!”

The girl in question completely ignored him, instead leisurely continuing to tap through the settings on her phone from her seat at a table next to the shop door.

“There’s no way I’m missing this,” she said simply, not bothering to look up and acknowledge the glare that Lance was burning into her forehead. “I already missed yesterday thanks to _someone_ ,” she shouted passive-aggressively at Hunk from across the shop, “there’s no way you’re going to deprive me of this train wreck, too.”

Lance spluttered, shouting an offended “hey!” in the same moment that Hunk jumped to his own defense. 

“I couldn’t have told you, Pidge! You would’ve wanted to videotape that too and it would’ve been way too obvious!” 

Hunk wasn’t one to whine, but in that moment he sure sounded like he was. Lance had no sympathy even as the two of them fell back into the argument that had taken up most of last night. Maybe if Hunk stopped betraying his friends he wouldn’t have to be on the defensive so much. 

Apparently Pidge was done discussing it, though, because she abruptly addressed Lance again like the two minutes of squabbling between what she’d said before and now hadn’t happened at all. 

“Besides, someday you’ll thank me for saving this idiotic moment for posterity.” She grinned deviously, phone’s camera flashing and leaving Lance blinking spots from his eyes. “See? Your kids will love this.”

She turned the screen towards him, and Lance flushed in the face of what he instantly deemed to be one of the least flattering photos of him in existence. Great, now Pidge had more blackmail _and_ he was already turning red before Mullet even arrived.

No, not Mullet— _Keith_. Just thinking the name filled him with enough joy to take the edge off of his frustration, but Pidge didn’t need to know that. 

Lance leveled her with a look. “At this rate you’re gonna scare him off way before then, you gremlin.”

Pidge’s impish grin didn’t fade as she pushed up her glasses. The lenses flashed in the shop’s overhead lights, magnifying the maniacal glint in her eyes. 

“Hey, I’m doing you a favor. If he can’t handle _me_ , there’s no way he’ll be able to put up with dating _you_.”

Hunk snickered and Lance planted his hands on his hips, willing himself to have patience. Deep down he knew that Pidge just wanted to meet the guy who’d managed to capture Loverboy Lance’s heart. He’d do the same thing if she’d fallen for someone, so he couldn’t really fault her for that. 

More than that, though, he knew that she was genuinely upset that she hadn’t been there to witness the big reveal the day before. She’d hidden it well, but Lance knew her well enough to tell the difference between her regular levels of ‘holed up in her room because she’s absorbed in her work’ and ‘holed up in her room because she’s pissed off.’

But, and herein was the biggest problem, he _also_ also knew that Pidge was the world’s biggest fucking troll and more often than not took genuine pleasure in making Lance’s life more difficult. 

From the moment she’d gotten up with him and Hunk at the crack of dawn that morning and declared that she was going with them to work, Lance suspected foul play. Pidge’s sleep schedule was more botched than the time Lance had been dared—and naturally subsequently attempted—to stay awake for seventy-two hours straight. 

Hell, they lived together and he didn’t even know when she slept. Pidge getting up early was literally unheard of, considering that would require ever sleeping at all. A small part of him had been touched, but most of him was on high alert for Pidge’s shenanigans. From the outside she looked innocent, but Lance _knew_. 

“Wow, feeling the love here, Pidge,” he deadpanned. “You really have a way with heartfelt words.”

She took another picture and grinned at him over the top of her phone. “Yep!” 

Lance threw up his hands and stomped back behind the counter, sticking his tongue out at Hunk when he chuckled as he passed.

“So when does he usually come?” Pidge asked, glancing at the huge wall-clock opposite the door. Lance leaned back against the counter next to Hunk, grumbling to himself and frowning at his reflection in the pastry case. 

The big guy glanced at him before realizing that he didn’t plan on answering. “He should be here any time now,” Hunk said, cool and casual while Lance had to actively focus on not vibrating out of his skin. 

Now that he’d accepted his fate and left Pidge be, his nervous energy had no outlet and compounded inside him, tying his stomach in knots. Hunk’s casual observation did nothing to help his inner turmoil, and Lance’s blue eyes fell on the clock, gulping past the tangle of excitement and dread lodged in his throat. He tapped his foot disjointedly and drummed his fingers on his arms, trying and failing to cling to the confidence he’d felt yesterday when he’d made the decision that had landed him here in the first place.

Even after he’d sworn not to call Keith last night, sticking to that oath had been damn near impossible. In the end he’d had to give Hunk his phone for safekeeping and had spent the night longingly staring at Keith’s name written on the scrap of paper. By midnight he’d been about to lose his goddamn mind and had tried to sneak his phone back from Hunk while he slept, a mistake which had resulted in Hunk startling awake, half an hour of bickering, multiple noise complaints, and Pidge fashioning a crude exterior lock for Lance’s bedroom door. 

And it wasn’t that Lance didn’t want to call him! He’d literally never wanted anything more in his life, the desire to finally call Keith by his name a living sensation in his heart. Even now he watched Pidge with her cell and his fingers itched with the phantom sensation of tapping phone keys. 

But the thought of saying Keith’s name for the first time over the phone had sat sourly in his stomach, overpowering the excitement and the longing with _wrong wrong wrong_. This chance had been a long time coming, and Lance was determined to do it right even if it killed him—and it nearly had. 

He’d tossed and turned all night, plagued with images of what Keith would look like when Lance said it for the first time. How his face would brighten with that beautiful, soft sort of happiness that made his heart weak. 

And, well, after how long he’d made Lance wait for the simple pleasure of _knowing_ his name, he figured it was Keith’s turn to stew for a bit. 

Now that the moment of truth approached, though, all of his sureness had abandoned him, leaving a mounting, prickling anxiety behind to weave between the giddy butterflies in his chest. They surged through him in an effort to avoid the barbs and forced him into a constant state of motion. He rocked on his heels, fidgeting beyond his control and radiating an aura that warned he was about to burst.

An aura which Hunk was quick to pick up on. They’d barely been standing next to each other for thirty seconds before Hunk’s gaze fell on him again and he sighed. 

“Hey man,” he started, using that gentle, understanding tone that usually did wonders to sooth Lance’s nerves. This time, though, it had no effect. “Don’t work yourself up, okay? No need to be nervous.”

“Yeah,” Pidge piped up. “He’s gotta be seriously gay for you to have kept up with this for this long, so you two’ll be perfect for each other.”

Hunk snorted. Lance’s mouth opened, but, well, she kinda did have a point, even if it was bluntly phrased. 

He made a frustrated sound, glaring down at the grid of the shop’s tile floor. The lines of white between the brown tiles blurred together from the furrow of his brow. 

“I know,” he huffed. He wanted to say more, but, of course, this was proving to be one of the rare times in Lance’s life when words failed him. He breathed out harshly through his nose, grasping at straws and snatches of frantic thoughts. 

“It’s just—what if he’s mad? What if he thinks I didn’t call ‘cause I’m not serious, or something?” His brow creased further with each fear that breached his lips into open air. Instead of helping him feel better, admitting them just made them more real, and he swallowed thickly.

“I can’t mess this up,” he muttered, tone skating the edge of desperate. “Not with him.”

The air in the shop thickened with a long, heavy silence. Wordlessly Hunk set a hand on his shoulder, squeezing and lightly bumping Lance’s side. Lance peered up at him, returning his comforting smile with a wobbly imitation that felt fragile on his face. 

“Oh, gimme a fucking break.”

Lance blinked, looking towards Pidge as she dropped her phone on the table. Surprise and a bit of hurt mingled in the blue of his eyes, only seeming to spur her on. 

“Listen,” she instructed, elbow slamming on the table so she could point a finger at him, “I haven’t even seen you together yet and I already know you’re the most tooth-rottingly cute pair of idiots in the fucking universe. You’ve spent the last two weeks dancing around each other, and now that he’s finally given you the sign you’ve been waiting for that he’s just as pathetic and love-sick as you, _that’s_ when you start getting all scared? I’m not having it.”

She stared fiercely into Lance’s eyes, her small stature doing nothing to diminish how that look combined with her tone made Lance feel like a scolded child. 

“You know what’s going to happen when he gets here?” she went on. “You’re gonna say his name, and if he doesn’t die from just that you’re gonna charm his pants off with all of your terrible lines that obviously only work because he’s in so deep for you, and I’m gonna videotape you two so you can send people to the dentist with your sap for generations to come. Got it?”

By the time Pidge took a breath Lance was gaping at her. She jabbed her finger at him a final time, lips pressed thinly and halfway standing up in her seat, looking at him like everything she’d said was the most obvious shit in the world, and Lance had the fleeting thought that maybe it was. Ever so slowly the tension seeped from his shoulders, his all-consuming anxiety quieting into something manageable in the pit of his stomach and finally allowing his power of speech to return. 

“Y-yeah,” he managed. Shaking his head, he stood up straighter and squared his shoulders. “Yeah, you’re right. I got this." This time his smile came easier, shining with gratitude. It was times like this that Lance was grateful for Pidge’s unique brand of tough love. “Thanks, Pidge.”

“Ah ah!” she scolded as she plunked back down to sit properly. “Nope, save the sap for Keith.”

Lance huffed out a laugh. “Right.”

“Uh, guys? Speaking of...” Hunk gestured towards the window and Lance’s eyes followed the motion. 

He instantly spotted an unfamiliar motorcycle with a _very_ familiar figuring sitting atop it pulling into one of the parking spaces out front. Lance’s heart leapt into his throat, a strained sound pulling from him as Keith pulled off his helmet and dismounted, his long hair fluffing adorably as it was freed from its confines. He left the helmet hanging on the handlebar and turned towards the shop. 

Pidge, of course, proceeded to turn all the way around in her seat, craning her neck to watch Keith coming up behind her. Lance fought back a flush and tried not to be too obvious as he spluttered, gesturing wildly in a futile effort to get Pidge to turn around. 

Unfortunately for him, she was a master at ignoring his bullshit. She didn’t even flinch, continuing to stare until, much to Lance’s horror, Keith actually noticed her. He paused mid-step, hand halfway to the door handle, eyes sliding to Pidge. 

The two held eye contact for a drawn out moment before Keith turned away. Pidge had the audacity to snicker as she turned back around, shooting Lance a wolfish grin. 

“He does not look happy,” she chirped, feet kicking in delight as she tapped at her phone and held it up at the ready. “Oh man, let the stupidity begin.”

Knowing she was recording, Lance shot her a frown and a middle finger, but then the door chimed and he wiped the annoyance from his face as he looked Keith’s way. 

Pidge was right: he didn’t look happy. As Keith entered he stopped just inside the doorway, meeting Lance’s eye from afar. His expression was carefully closed off, lips pressed and brows scrunched so hard that they practically met at the bridge of his nose. Emotions churned in the gray-violet of his eyes, but Lance was too far away to pinpoint them. 

Despite it all, though, just the sight of him was enough to quiet Lance’s doubts and settle his nerves. For the first time that morning Lance felt sure, confident. His heart was fortified with Hunk and Pidge’s encouragements and bolstered by the resurgence of the _feeling_ that took over every time they were together. 

His brightest smile lit up his face without any conscious effort, and all of his trademark confidence returned with it. 

If Keith was angry, that could _hopefully_ only mean one thing. 

Keith visibly faltered in the face of Lance’s smile. The sternness on his features wavered, but smoothed back over as he approached the counter. Lance simply watched him, one corner of his mouth curving up into his signature smirk as Keith parked himself in front of where he stood, stance set and arms crossed. Lance got the feeling that the few inches he left between himself and the counter’s edge were deliberate. 

“You didn’t call me.”

Keith’s voice was more than a bit accusatory. Paired with his crossed arms and how one hip jutted out to the side it could be assumed that he intended as much, but the way his lips pulled downwards was distinctly more pout than scowl, and it was way too adorable to be fair. 

Friday morning meant that there was a steady stream of customers, but thankfully his coworkers had resigned themselves to the fact that Lance would be even more useless than usual while Keith was there today. He could feel Hunk and the others eyeing them as they continued to work, and noted that almost every seated table none-too-subtly watched them too.

Lance basked in it. He always performed better before an audience. Some called him dramatic, but he preferred to think of himself as a thespian.

Keith watched him expectantly, and, taking him in, Lance was struck all over again with how stupid he’d been to doubt. Now that only the counter separated them, he saw every worry he’d wrestled with over the past twenty-four hours mirrored exactly in the sheen of Keith’s eyes. 

He was nervous, too. Now that Lance recognized it, the signals were clear as day. The tension hiking up his shoulders. The rigid line of his spine and the stiffness of his limbs. The frown that deepened the longer Lance stayed silent. 

That incredible _feeling_ that had built up throughout their interactions suffused through him, and he spared a final moment to remember back through the last two weeks.

The feeling had started as the giddy tingle of a crush back when they’d first spoken. He remembered how Keith had stared at him like a deer in headlights and Lance had tried so hard to put him at ease, only to be completely and utterly captivated by his sharp snark and odd humor. 

Then he remembered the first time he’d heard Keith laugh—the full-bodied, gut-wrenching laugh that had burst out of him after Hunk had showed him the beach photo. The feeling had swelled into a flutter as Lance had watched, awestruck and blushing from an entirely different kind of embarrassment as he’d thought that that laugh could sustain him just as well as air. 

He’d been sure it would consume him last Friday after listening to Keith’s apprehensive, heartfelt spiel about what he hoped to have in a partner. The feeling had spurred into a frenzy so powerful he’d felt like there wasn’t enough room in his chest for both it and his heart. 

It’d been nearly snuffed out the day he’d met Shiro. He’d never felt an ache like when he’d thought Keith and Shiro were together; like his butterflies had been ripped out of him, leaving a hollow, gaping wound behind. He’d never been so grateful to be wrong. Knowing that Keith had told someone else—someone _important_ —about him had been enough to heal the scar. 

Every day since the feeling had grown and grown. Now, watching Keith’s muscles twitch from his effort not to fidget, watching his own fears play out in Keith’s eyes, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Keith felt the exact same thing. 

“Nope,” he finally spoke, the word simple and light. Admittedly he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction to expect, and had to hold back a chuckle when Keith instantly deflated, anger snuffing out like a switch flicking off. 

“Fuck, Lance—listen, I just—” he shifted uncomfortably, features twisting like every word pained him. “I’m sorry. I should’ve just given you my number like a normal fucking person, but I don’t—I don’t know how to _do_ this, and Hunk said ‘do what feels right’ so I was trying to do it like _me_ , and I thought that—I thought...”

Keith trailed off with a disheartened sound. As he’d spoken the pieces of his stoic mask had flaked away completely until he stared at Lance with raw, unguarded eyes, and Lance’s heart thudded painfully, painting his insides a canvas of black and blue. 

He’d only seen this side of Keith once before, on that life-changing morning last Friday: the side that was vulnerable and real, laying himself and his desires out to bear. And just like that one other time, that feeling inside Lance reacted powerfully, more than ever before. In an instant of indescribable _heat_ and _pain_ and _good_ , it flourished until it replaced Lance’s heart entirely.

‘ _Love_ ,’ it whispered, and every fiber of his being hummed in affirmation. 

‘ _Love_ ,’ he thought, awestruck and full to bursting.

“Keith,” he said, soft and intimate and really, what was the difference? 

Keith jerked, his eyes going comically wide. A ruddy blush rose in his cheeks and he _shuddered_ , strong enough that Lance saw the line of it travel from the top of his head and down. 

Lance could only grin. A distant thought crossed his mind that maybe he should be questioning this, because yeah, he’d always been a romantic deep down, but love was actually a huge deal and he’d barely known Keith for a month. But Lance felt none of that. There was no hesitation or doubt. 

The moment the word had come to him, that _feeling_ had finally calmed, and he realized that, just like Keith, it had been nameless all this time, desperate to be recognized for what it was. Now that Lance had a name for it, it settled into his being, satisfied and at peace like it had always belonged there, and Lance knew. 

Keith was still bright red and shell-shocked, so Lance leaned that much closer, resting his arms on the counter to bend over its distance. 

The span of the countertop was only a few feet. Some days it had felt like miles. 

But today? 

Today it meant nothing. Today Keith wasn’t just a mysterious, unreachable possibility. 

Today Lance had a name to match with the mullet. It was the name of sinful smirks and snorted laughter. Of playful looks and even more playful banter. Of thinly veiled desire and all the stars in the sky. 

Today he was Keith, and Lance loved him.

“So here’s the thing,” he started, head tilting invitingly and grin stretching so wide that it ached. He waited to make sure Keith wouldn’t interrupt before he went on, “As much as I was _actually dying_ to call you—like, it physically almost killed me, dude, I had to have Hunk confiscate my phone ‘cause I couldn’t trust myself—I was...” 

Lance trailed off with a breathy laugh. He could feel the sap shining through in his expression, so might as well just go all the way, right? He took a breath and told the truth. 

“I didn’t want the first time I said your name to be over the phone, you know? Like, I _finally_ knew after so long, and it was so amazing and meant so much. The phone just felt wrong, too impersonal. You deserve better than that. I figured it’d be more than worth the wait.”

Pausing, Lance gave him a moment to absorb all that before he extended a hand across the counter. Keith blinked owlishly at it for a long moment, but Lance simply waited, palm open and inviting, until Keith uncrossed his arms and shuffled a few inches forward. He reached out to meet him, their fingers brushing in a moment of hesitance, before he settled his hand fully in Lance’s. 

Lance was on cloud nine as he curled their fingers together. Keith’s fit perfectly between his own, and his hand was warm even through the leather of his gloves. 

Squeezing his fingers gently, Lance lifted his hand and pressed a kiss just above his knuckles. Keith gasped lightly, and Lance delighted in the sound. Looking up at him, Lance gave his brightest, most charming grin. 

“So, _Keith_ ,” Lance purred his name just to watch him shiver again. “Was I right?” 

Keith gaped at him even harder than yesterday, lips parted and cheeks flaming. Compared to how often it had happened to Lance over the past two weeks, seeing him so flustered was a rare and glorious sight. Lance felt like he’d been given a beautiful, priceless treasure, and happily admired it for as long as he was able. 

It took a solid minute for Keith to compose himself enough to shut his mouth. Even then, his throat worked for another thirty seconds, during which Lance could feel his fingers shaking within his own. 

“U-um,” he finally started, but his voice broke halfway through and he had to clear his throat. His blush darkened a few shades. “Yeah,” he breathed. “That was... _definitely_ worth it.”

His fingers twitched and curled tighter into Lance’s, and the barista’s grin split impossibly wider. 

“Good,” Lance said, using his grip on Keith’s fingers to pull him closer. Keith came easily, moving until they were both up against either edge of the counter. Lance’s free hand lifted to brush a few locks of dark, silken hair away from his face. “As much as I secretly love the mullet, it’s actually really incredible to not have to mentally call you that all the time.” 

A laugh broke from Keith’s chest. It was breathless, and a bit overwhelmed, but full and real. “ _That’s_ what you called me in your head that whole time? You couldn’t have picked a regular name of _some_ kind?”

“Hey, you do not get to complain, Mr. Mystery Man,” Lance scolded, flicking a lock of his hair before his hand lowered again. “You’re the difficult one here, not me.” 

“Really?” Keith snorted. “I’m the difficult one?” He pinned Lance with a look of complete exasperation, and that was the final straw.

Before Keith could stop him, Lance leaned down and peppered kisses on the square of skin on top of his hand exposed by his glove, determined to win this squabble by any means necessary. His grin was a mile wide, and only grew when Keith made a cut off, choked sound. 

“Lance!” he protested, a smile obvious in his voice even though Lance couldn’t see it, but whatever more he was going to say dissolved into embarrassed laugher as Lance ignored him and kept going, kissing each knuckle and moving up to trail across his wrist. 

“Holy shit, this is so gay.”

If Pidge’s flat, too-loud-to-really-be-a-whisper whisper hadn’t shattered the moment completely, Hunk’s answering squawk sure would’ve. 

“Pidge! Don’t ruin their moment!” he cried, followed by a smacking sound and Pidge yelping. 

“Hey, don’t hit the camera! Trying to capture an internet sensation, here!”

His friends’ ridiculousness broke his final shred of composure. Lifting his head enough to share a look with Keith, Lance saw the same in his eyes, and the two of them broke down into simultaneous, uncontrollable giggles. Twining their hands together again, Lance leaned forward and Keith did the same, their foreheads meeting in the middle and the space between them filling with warm, red-faced laughter. 

Hunk cheered and Pidge shouted “just kiss you fucking nerds!” Finally Lance felt his own face flame, his chuckles turning nervous. 

“She just wants us to for her dumb recording,” Lance whispered in an attempt to reassure him, but when he looked into Keith’s eyes, he was met not with uncertainty or shyness, but a glimmer of mischief lurking beneath layers of cosmic dust. 

Lance’s heart did a slow roll in his chest. All his daydreams of being this close hadn’t done those eyes justice: he had to put a conscious effort into not getting lost in the swirling colors to focus on the fact that Keith was speaking. 

“Would people really want to watch us kiss?” he asked. As he spoke he slipped his fingers out from Lance’s to slide up his wrist, tugging him impossibly closer. Lance gulped, cursing the counter that separated them. 

“I, uh, I dunno,” he muttered back, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Keith’s attention dipped just long enough to follow the motion, and it was Lance’s turn to shudder. 

All at once he realized how silent the shop had become. No one spoke, and even the music drifting down from the speakers seemed to have quieted. Their breaths mingling in the inch between their lips was overloud in the hush. He glanced around the shop as much as he could without moving away, but it was enough to catch sight of everyone watching them. 

“I think... _everyone’s_ waiting for us to, actually,” Lance admitted with a nervous laugh.

Keith hummed, considering. Then, “Well, I’m not going to kiss you just for them.” 

Lance blinked. Hurt flickered through him, but he swallowed hard around the lump of disappointment lodged in his throat, nodding minutely against Keith’s forehead. He went to pull away, but he’d hardly moved at all before Keith’s grip on his wrist pulled him back. 

“I’m not going to kiss you for them,” Keith repeated, eyes flashing like amethyst caught under the sun. A corner of his mouth quirked upward, and Lance couldn’t look away from the curve of his lips. “I’ve waited two weeks for this. I’m going to kiss you because I want to.” 

Lance’s breath hitched. The rest of him froze as his heart kicked into overdrive, racing enough to make him dizzy and sure that this had to be a dream. 

Keith moved in, closing the minuscule gap between them.

Keith’s lips were warm and softer than he’d ever imagined. The counter between them made the angle a bit awkward, and the edge of it dug into Lance’s abdomen as he tried to move closer still, but Keith’s thumb stroked circles into his wrist while his other hand rose to cup his jaw, and everything else faded away. Lance lost himself in the feel of those lips, in the gentle push and pull, and it was _perfect_. 

Through the rose-colored haze of _Keith Keith Keith_ he just barely registered a sound. It was distant, but it sounded almost like...applause? 

It grew until it was enough to break through Lance’s muddled thoughts, and he reluctantly pulled away, blinking the literal stars from his eyes. Keith looked equally wonderstruck, and the two of them stared at each other for a long moment, soft, shy smiles and blushing cheeks mirrored between them, before they turned and looked out over the shop. 

Patrons and Lance’s coworkers alike broke into spirited applause. People stood from their tables and raised their coffees in the air, shouts of joy and congratulations filling the shop. Hunk sniffled and Pidge muttered “fucking finally,” and even Allura’s voice cheered them on from behind. Lance’s heart swelled, pushing out bubbles of hiccuping laughter that he couldn’t control if he tried. 

Keith looked over at him when he tugged his hand free, but Lance just smiled. He came around to the front of the counter, pulse tripping as he closed the distance. With nothing between them he could press in as close as he wanted, and fit himself snugly into Keith’s side. Lance reached out and twined their hands once more, and he gave a pointed nod to the crowd.

Keith barely had time to quirk a brow before Lance dipped into a grand bow, bending at the waist and throwing his free arm wide. Keith made a surprised sound, but it was followed shortly by a chuckle as Lance straightened and waved at everyone like they were clamoring paparazzi. He noticed more than one person not-so-subtly taking pictures, so he figured he might as well.

The moment lasted until the final customers sat back down. Conversations slowly started up again, and it was then that Keith nudged his shoulder. 

“That was more dramatic than I expected,” he muttered at the tail end of a breathless chuckle. 

Lance grinned, catching sight of Hunk charging towards them with his arms outstretched. “Oh, it’s about to get worse. Brace yourself.” 

The next instant Hunk collided with their fronts, and the pair _oofed_. He effortlessly scooped them both up in a bear hug like none other Lance had ever experienced, and he managed a laugh through his crushed lungs. 

“I’m so happy for you guys!” Hunk gushed, squeezing tight before setting them down. Keith stumbled a bit, winded, but Lance was there to keep him steady with a hand at the small of his back. Keith offered him a grateful smile once he steadied, and, much to Lance’s delight, leaned into the touch until Lance could put his arm around his waist. 

“And you didn’t want me to record that,” Pidge piped up as she tapped a few times at her phone and stuffed it in her pocket. Her smile as she strolled over to them was equal parts teasing and sincere. 

“Okay, okay,” Lance cut her off before her gloating could get any farther. “Give me a know-it-all lecture if you want, Pidge, but nothing could possibly ruin my mood right now.”

“So you’re Pidge,” Keith said, gaze falling on the girl in question. He took her in like he was seeing her for the first time and Lance noticed a flash of what could only be described as respect in his eyes. 

“Yes, this is Pidge, and she’s evil,” Lance explained emphatically, giving Keith a pointed look. “You have to be careful around her, or she’ll—”

“Draw on your face with sharpie?” Keith finished with a grin and wow, Lance really should be appalled but goddamn he just wanted to kiss him again. He huffed for appearance’s sake.

“Ugh, why’d you have to bring that up?”

“I thought nothing could ruin your mood right now?” Keith questioned. He tilted his head up to look at him, breath ghosting along Lance’s jaw. Lance flushed, but kept his composure enough to give a cheeky grin. 

“Oh, don’t worry, so long as you’re in my arms the mood is definitely _not_ ruined.” Keith laughed as Lance waggled his brows. 

Pidge interrupted with a pointed _ahem_ , and Lance paused mid-way to kissing Keith again to shoot her a look. 

“No no no, break it up, the video’s over and I’m not getting anymore cavities. Now,” she said, returning Lance’s look with one that was a hundred times more frightening, “I actually have an ulterior motive for being here.” 

Alarm bells erupted in Lance’s head. “Ohhh no, back away everybody, Pidge is up to something!” Untangling himself from Keith’s side, Lance moved to stand in front of him, ignoring his sound of protest as he spread his arms wide. 

“Seriously, get ready to hit the deck. Pidge, what are you doing?” Lance leveled her with his best ‘don’t you fucking dare’ look, warily eyeing her as she turned around and walked back to her table, snatching her backpack off of one of the chairs and unzipping the pocket. 

Lance corralled Keith a few steps backwards. “I swear, if you’ve got something in there that’ll endanger Keith’s luscious, mullet-y locks—”

“My _what?_ ”

“—I will not hesitate to tackle you!” 

Pidge didn’t even acknowledge him, instead throwing an exasperated look over at Hunk. “Why do I ever do anything nice for him when he always expects the worst from me?”

Hunk considered. “‘Cause seeing Lance sad is like seeing a puppy sad?”

Pidge looked back to him as her nose wrinkled. “Nah, he’s not that cute.”

Okay, Lance probably shouldn’t be offended by that. No one could really be as cute as a puppy because, come on, they were puppies, but damn it, he was at least pretty close!

“Hey!”

Hunk shook his head. “Just hear her out, man. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.”

Lance huffed again, but Hunk’s calm was enough to temper his righteous indignation. He shut his mouth and watched Pidge...only for it to fall open again when she produced a Castle of Lions Café apron from her backpack.

She looped the straps over her head so it hung limply against her front. When she turned back to him, one brow was quirked pointedly. 

“I’m covering for you, you idiot.”

Lance’s brain floundered, his eyes flicking between her and the garment. “Wait—what? Can you do that?”

Pidge narrowed her eyes. “I’m a literal genius, Lance, I can operate a coffee shop cash register. Doubt me and I’ll change my mind.”

“No! No no, no need for that, yeesh,” Lance hastened to assure. “But shouldn’t you ask Allura?”

“I’ve already approved the idea,” Allura piped up, and Lance startled, whipping around so fast that Keith, still directly behind him, stumbled back a step to keep from being knocked over. Lance hadn’t realized Allura was still watching them, but there she was, leaning against the back wall of the shop. She nodded in affirmation, offering an encouraging smile, and hope swelled in Lance’s chest...

Only to fizzle out when he looked down and caught Keith’s baffled expression. “Don’t you have to work, though?”

Keith took a moment to answer. He cast an odd look between Pidge, Hunk, and Allura, and shook his head. “Coran gave me the day off.”

Lance blinked at the familiar name. It couldn’t be... 

But wait. 

_Wait_.

“Wha— _Coran?_ ” Lance questioned. “As in big, orange mustache Coran? He’s your _boss?_ ”

Keith’s brows rose. “Yes?”

Pidge and Hunk were snickering next to them, but Lance barely noticed through the whirlwind of pieces snapping into place in his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d known that Coran owned an auto repair shop, but he’d never even considered...

“Coran and Allura were _both_ in on this?” he shouted, startling a few customers enough that Allura stepped forward with a placating gesture and sharp eyes. 

“Yes, yes, the four of us wanted to give you two some time together after today, so we...coordinated,” she explained, indicating herself, Pidge, and Hunk. 

“And,” Hunk piped up, “I thought it’d be a good way to make you forgive me for, well, all the stuff over the last two weeks,” he added, a hand rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. 

Lance, for his part, simply stared at his friends, gratitude swelling up to join all the other emotions swirling inside his ribcage. He really couldn’t take much more of this or he was liable to dissolve on the spot. 

“Wow, thanks you guys.” He grinned at each of them in turn, but Pidge waved him off. 

“Yeah, yeah, remember what I said about the sap. Now get outta here before we change our minds!” 

And, well, he’d planned to thank them more, but unlike the others Pidge _would_ change her mind if he pissed her off, and the whole idea was pretty much riding on her covering his shift. Lance didn’t need to be told twice. 

Seizing Keith’s hand again, Lance yanked off his apron and threw it to Hunk. The big guy fumbled to catch it and Lance turned his megawatt smile onto Keith. 

“Sooo can I take you up on that ride?” 

Keith’s grin spread slowly, slanting across his face with an edge of mischief. “If you think you can handle it.”

The challenge thrummed through him like a shot of adrenaline. His own smile sharpened, and he gave an abrupt tug at Keith’s hand so that the other boy tipped into him. Keith caught himself on Lance’s chest with a gasp, and Lance’s smile turned roguish. 

“Oh, it’ll be handled,” he winked, and even though Keith only scoffed and rolled his eyes, Lance still counted it as a win. 

The two boys rushed out onto the sidewalk, pressed close and hand-in-hand. It wasn’t until Lance was standing in front of it that he could really appreciate the bike in all its glory; much like everything he’d seen of Keith’s wardrobe, it was black with red and silver accents and just served to make him even more unfairly hot than he already was. 

He could see Keith smirking at him out the corner of his eye as he gaped at the bike, but considering the literal hours he’d spent imagining it the night before, he shamelessly indulged. It wasn’t until Keith stepped towards it that a thought struck him, and Lance flung himself forward, scrambling to get to it first. 

“Wait, wait, hold on, we gotta test this—” he shouted as he careened past, nearly overshooting and toppling over the bike in his haste. Keith stopped short with a half confused, half amused snort.

For once Lance was grateful for his gangly legs as he managed to throw one leg over the motorcycle’s height on the first try. He plunked down on the leather seat with a hum, wiggling a bit to get a feel for it, before leaning forward into the handlebars. One elbow rested on the dashboard and propped up his head, the other toying idly with a handle. 

He tilted his head down, peering up at Keith through his lashes. “So? You said yesterday you had to see it to know, so what’s the verdict? Can I pull off the bad boy biker look?”

Keith visibly gulped. His eyes burned a trail along Lance’s casual pose, and Lance felt it as solidly as if it was a physical touch. 

“Uh,” Keith said intelligently, and Lance grinned. He’d thought about Keith seductively lounging like this far too many times last night. The payback was just as satisfying as the impending promise of riding the bike with Keith for real.

Keith recovered quickly enough, though, and started towards him. Sure that he was about to be physically ousted, Lance made himself sit perfectly still, determined to keep up the pose until the end. 

Instead Keith tugged off his jacket and draped it across Lance’s shoulders. 

He blinked at the sudden weight of it on his back. It was still warm, much to Lance’s delight, and the maroon leather carried the smell of campfires and motor oil. He had to resist the urge to bury his nose in the collar while Keith was still standing right there. 

“The leather jacket makes it,” Keith told him like it was some groundbreaking secret. His fingers brushed the juncture of Lance’s neck as he made sure the fabric was settled, sending a shudder through him.

When he stepped away again, Keith scrutinized him with a critical eye. Lance held his pose for another few seconds before he caved and fell into his classic finger guns, and Keith snorted. 

“Well you _were_ pulling it off,” he said with a shake of his head. 

“Don’t even pretend that the finger guns weren’t what tipped you over the edge,” Lance teased. “You’re in no position to mock my smooth moves.”

“Right, the finger guns and cheesy pickup lines.” Keith tried to look unimpressed, but it didn’t really work when his eyes kept flicking over the curve of Lance’s spine. Lance leaned down further just to watch him watch the motion. 

“Keith, you literally already told me that I’m charming and handsome, it’s exactly four days too late to pretend. You’re in too deep, you can’t fool me now,” he tutted. 

Keith sighed with all the bewildered acceptance of a man who’d accepted his fate. He also didn’t look at all upset about it, the shake of his head fond, and Lance celebrated a silent victory.

Keith stepped forward with obvious intent, then, but Lance didn’t move. Keith gave him a look, and he grinned innocently. 

“What?”

“Are you going to just sit on it, or are we actually going to go somewhere?”

A laugh pulled from him, and Lance shot him a saucy wink. “Wow, here I am sitting pretty for you, and you’re gonna complain about it?” 

He pointedly wiggled his ass as he said it, and Keith’s face took over for his jacket as the red accent to his otherwise black and gray wardrobe. Unfortunately for him, it only spurred Lance on. 

He was so busy looking overtly suggestive that he didn’t notice the flash in Keith’s eyes. Before he could blink Keith stepped up and leaned in close, and Lance’s snickering broke off into a squeak when Keith surged forward and captured his lips.

His sitting position forced him to bow his back as Keith pressed in close, standing over him and lips moving hotly against his. One of Keith’s hands came up to the back of Lance’s neck, while the other gripped a handle to brace them both. Lance gave into it easily, tilting his head and arching as Keith bore down on him to allow him closer, hands slipping from the bike’s handles to grip Keith’s waist. 

The timidness of their first kiss was _long gone_ and Lance was _all for it_. Whether the change was due to the lack of onlookers this time around or his little show Lance didn’t know, but he silently gave thanks regardless. He lost himself in the heat between them until Keith broke away, drawing a plaintive sound from Lance even as he gasped for breath.

Keith didn’t go far, staying close enough that their mouths brushed when he spoke. 

“You really shouldn’t put those kinds of thoughts in my head right now,” Keith muttered against his lips, and his toes curled. 

_Right now_ distinctly implied _but maybe later_. 

Lance hummed low in his throat, meeting those stormy eyes with defiance. “What if I want to?”

Keith chuckled like he’d expected that answer. “Then I’m probably going to crash and kill us both.”

Oh. Well, damn it, that was actually a decent point. Lance sighed. 

“Too bad, it’s your loss.” He went to move away, but despite what Keith had said it was his turn to let out a soft sound of protest, and Lance grinned. 

“You can either be the voice of reason, or you can complain, not both,” Lance scolded, but he also couldn’t really deny that scowl-y pout, either, so he pressed in for another, softer kiss. Keith tried to make it heated again, but Lance pulled away before he had the chance, leaning back to offer Keith a wink. 

“Now now, no need to get impatient. We have all day for that,” he assured with a squeeze of Keith’s hips, delighted to find that he wasn’t the only one who was far too tempted by the implication of _later_. 

The tips of his ears went red, but Keith grunted an affirmative and straightened, giving Lance space to adjust. He moved back on the seat with much more shimmying than was strictly necessary, patting the spot in front of him once there was enough room. Keith tried to look annoyed, but he also watched hungrily the whole time, so yeah, Lance was definitely not discouraged.

In one fluid motion Keith plucked his helmet off the handlebar and threw a leg over the side of the bike. He settled in with ease, and Lance was suddenly glad he was facing the other way. Without his jacket to obscure it, Keith’s shirt was tight enough across his back to show the divots of his spine and the lines of lean muscle hiding beneath, and Lance’s mouth went dry.

Great, now he was the one trying to suppress his plunging thoughts. He’d really been looking forward to the ride, but _fuck_ , all Lance wanted to do now was pick up where they’d stopped.

Pretty sure that Keith was blissfully unaware, Lance openly marveled at his turned back as he reached into the side compartment and pulled out a spare helmet, but the illusion of ignorance shattered all of two seconds later when Keith turned to hand it back to him, a knowing smirk curling his lips.

“Where do you want to go?” Keith asked as Lance took the helmet from him. He purposely brushed Keith’s fingers just because he could. 

“As long as it’s not out for coffee, I’m down.”

“Damn, that was my one idea.”

Lance’s laugh was muffled as he shoved the helmet on. He’d half expected it to smell weird, but based on the distinct new car scent, either it hadn’t been used much, or it was brand new. 

Both options meant that Keith didn’t ride with someone else very often. Lance’s heart fluttered and he beamed behind the helmet’s visor. 

“C’mon, Mullet, after those names you gave me all this time I know you’re more creative than that,” he teased, taking the fact that he hadn’t asked for it back as permission to slip his arms fully into Keith’s jacket. Keith raised a brow at him, only for it to be obscured when he put his own helmet on. 

“Are you really going to keep calling me that?”

“Um, duh,” he said, snickering when Keith sighed. “What? It’s practically a term of endearment at this point. Not that I won’t call you other ones, though, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Now that Keith was settled, Lance leaned into him, grinning with his chin hooked over his shoulder. “You got to pick all your fake names, so I’m picking your pet name.” Keith made a sound of protest, but Lance talked over him. “And before you say anything, you totally brought it on yourself, so hush, Mullet.”

“Lance.”

“Babe? I like that one, too.”

“I’m not—”

“Hon?”

“Why are you—”

“Sweetie? Even if you veto all these, I’m just going to pick one, ya’ know.”

“You _know_ my name now and you’re going to call me literally everything _but_ —”

“Pet names are an exception, toots, deal with—”

Lance cut off in a startled yelp when Keith abruptly started the motorcycle. It jerked under him and Lance pitched forward, plastering himself to Keith’s back and clinging. 

It took a few long moments for Lance to realize that they weren’t actually moving. Only then did he peel his eyes open—the fuck? When had he closed them?—and loosen his death grip on Keith’s shirt.

Lance shot a glare at the side of Keith’s helmet when he started laughing. It was halfhearted at best, though, thanks to his heart actively turning to mush at the realization that he _could_ feel Keith’s laughter when they were sitting this close. The sensation was just as breathtaking as he’d imagined. 

“You did that on purpose,” Lance pouted, and Keith scoffed. 

“And you’re a hypocrite.”

Damn it, he’d been caught by logic again. He knew there was no point arguing that, so instead Lance focused on keeping his composure as Keith kicked up the bike’s stand and revved the engine. The bike rumbled with a vengeance between his legs, and Lance’s insides turned to jelly even though they hadn’t moved an inch. 

“Last chance,” Keith warned, and in his distraction it took Lance a moment to realize he meant their destination. 

For a moment Lance stared dumbly into Keith’s visor. The shroud of tinted plastic blended with the deep purple of his eyes, but Lance could see how his irises danced even through the barrier, anticipation and joy flashing bright as stars. He was powerless to stop a sappy grin. 

“Anywhere so long as I’m with you.” 

Keith faced forward again before he could be sure, but Lance swore he caught him smile. The bike’s engine revved, and Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s middle, pressing close to feel the rumble of his laugh. 

“Anywhere, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to come say hi on tumblr [@casiosiris294!](http://casiosiris294.tumblr.com/) <3


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